


Just You

by charcuterie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkward Flirting, Bad Humor, Ben plays piano, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Kind of a medium burn, Mutual Pining, Texting, but not a fast burn either, but the rating is mostly for language tbh, not a slow burn, oh and my Ben Solo is a strapping farm boy, rey is into it, so there's that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19080820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcuterie/pseuds/charcuterie
Summary: Rey, 9:15pm: you’re quite the upgrade from the shitty saxophonist who used to live in your apartment, let me tell youBen, 9:16pm: that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. thank youIn which Ben and his piano move into the apartment across the alley, and Rey spends her evenings listening in.





	1. somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Just You" by Sylvie Lewis.

The movers have finally, _finally_ gone, leaving behind heaps of boxes and the faint scent of diesel fuel to linger in the settling dust of Ben’s new apartment.

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, and considers the chaotic piles of possessions stacked haphazardly around him, feeling lost and not knowing where to even start. He half-heartedly plucks at the top of the nearest box, looking longingly at the battered old spinet against the wall.

Fuck it. Unpacking can wait.

He arranges himself on the bench and lightly runs his fingers back and forth over the keys. The piano tuner won’t be here until tomorrow to fix the damage caused to the strings by the long, bumpy ride across the country, but he thinks a song or two won’t hurt it…he taps out a few mindless arpeggios to loosen the finger-joints grown stiff from gripping steering wheels and furniture corners.

He’s worked his way through a first refrain and is preparing for the next, when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. It’s Mom.

Of _course_ it’s Mom.

“Hey honey,” she says in response to his mumbled greeting. He hears pots clanking in the background, probably Dad washing dishes after dinner. “You get in okay? Everything go smoothly?”

“Not even remotely,” Ben replies darkly, palming his forehead and resting his elbow against the music rack. “It all went to shit pretty fast—”

“Language.”

“Sorry. Anyway, we couldn’t get the piano up the stairs, so we had to crane it through the window. I had to dismantle the whole frame and put it back together.” He glances over at said windows, hoping to Christ he did it right, or there goes the security deposit. Not to mention his dignity.

Mom snorts. “I don’t know why you insisted on lugging that thing with you across four states.”

“Because I like it.”

“Moving a piano isn’t cheap—”

“Good thing I can afford it.” God, less than sixty seconds into this conversation, and he can already feel the headache beginning to pulse over his left eye.

“Good thing,” she agrees in a disagreeable tone. “So! You’re back in our neck of the woods! When will you be coming by?”

 _That didn’t take long._ “I’m not sure,” he hedges, stiffly. “Getting the new location up and running is going to be rough, at first. I’m not sure when I’ll have time.”

“Have ti—! It’s a _forty minute drive,_ how much _time_ could you possibly— _Han!_ ” She hollers. “ _Don’t use scrubby pads on the new pans!_ ” He hears his father answer in blurs of argumentative noise. She huffs. “Your _father_ , I swear to God…what was I saying?”

Ben grinds the heel of his palm into his temple. “You were telling me to come home.”

“Uh, yes, I was, wasn’t I…” she trails off. His ears prick at something in her uncharacteristically vague tone.

“Uh—Han, honey—I think there were some dishes left out on the porch, would you grab them for me?” Ben hears Dad grumble something in response before allowing himself to be shooed out of the kitchen.

“Ben,” Mom continues in a softer tone. “Listen. Your father is getting worse. And, honestly,” she lowers her voice even further, “We could use some help around the farm.”

Ben stares hard at the black keys under his left hand, lips pressing into a grim line. “Define ‘getting worse.’”

Mom searches for words. “He can’t walk on his own any more. He’s supposed to use the walker, but…” she snorts, irritated. “But you know how he is. He fell down the stairs. Last week.”

“Well, that’s just fucking perfect.”

“Language.”

Ben grinds his jaws together, chewing on all the words he wants to shout, and can’t.

His thoughts must have spilled across the airwaves somehow, because Mom sighs. In the background, Ben hears his father fumble back into the kitchen, harping about how there weren’t any dishes outside, after all, and what did she mean by sending him off on a wild goose chase...

“I know you didn’t want to come back,” she tells Ben gently. “But you’re here now, so let’s…let’s just try to make the best of things.”

“Sure. Let’s.” Ben leans forward and rests his head on one arm. In the aching silence of this empty room, he can feel the bare walls and the mess of boxes pressing on his brain.

Mom is silent on the other end. Ben sees her in his mind’s eye, leaning a hip on the worn kitchen counter of his childhood home with that look she reserves only for him—a little proud, a little sad, and fully aware that she doesn’t understand him at all...and probably never will.

“We love you, Benjamin,” she reminds him, softly.

“I love you, too,” Ben tells her, mostly meaning it.

“Is that Ben?” Dad blusters angrily over her shoulder. “When the hell is he—"

He hangs up before the sound of his father’s voice makes him lose his temper.

Standing up on creaking knees, Ben paces over to the windows, pulls open one of the lower panes with a bang and a cloud of dust, and lights a cigarette. The first drag washes over his soul in a blessed, soothing wave. He takes his time, smoking slowly, wrestling with that deep, snapping anger that always seems to be boiling under his ribs.

Eventually he flicks the cherry off into the alley below, chucks the butt into an empty trash box, and stalks back over to the piano, where he leans his head down on the music rack and waits for his breathing to slow, for the tremor of adrenaline to fade.

Soon enough, though, Ben finds himself picking out the first few plaintive notes of Brubeck’s interpretation of _Somewhere_ , humming the part of Dempsey’s accompanying saxophone in a pitchy baritone. An old favorite of his, the song flows easily through his fingers, familiar and obliging and soothing.

 

***

 

About an hour ago, Rey found herself staring down the gauntlet of yet another work week with a dim, hopeless feeling flickering like a broken bulb in the back of her brain.

Something about those golden shafts of sunlight drifting down from the windows seemed to scream, _Hey, you sad fuck--you know what sounds like a great idea? Getting drunk and chain smoking!_ And so Rey was now three shots deep in tequila, one arm dangling out of her third-story apartment window, smoking her eighth cigarette.

She knows she isn’t supposed to smoke inside the building, but she’s too anxious to walk down two flights of stairs to smoke by the dumpster like an adult. As the de facto Smoking Place for her building, it’s usually full of people. People that want to _talk_ , and make _eye-contact_ , and do other weird, stressful _connection_ -things. Things that make her scrabble desperately to seem normal.

In the building across the alley, the new tenant flings open his window with a startling bang. He coughs and flaps and cusses at the cloud of dust that puffs into his face out of the long-neglected woodwork. He must be done moving in, by now; or maybe the movers have finally dropped dead from the effort of fucking around with that piano they had to crane in through the wall around the corner…Rey squints, wondering what could be so special about a little spinet that he couldn’t just buy a digital piano like any sane person who had just gotten a third floor apartment.

Rey may not enjoy people, but she does enjoy people- _watching_ , and that afternoon had provided some prime entertainment.

She lights another cigarette and lets her arm trail out the window. Watching the blue smoke trickle out between her fingertips and disappear into the smoggy city sunset, she wonders idly what it would be like to be _normal_.

 _I want to be normal,_ she thinks to herself, secretively. _I want to be one of those girls with nicely-painted fingernails that aren’t bitten down to the quick. Who has a golden retriever she loves like her child, because she’s well-adjusted and doesn’t find dogs’ unquestioning loyalty and affection to be weird or disingenuous. A girl with too many lip products, and a closet full of impractical shoes, and a life. An actual, real, life._

At this point, she honestly couldn’t say what a “real” life would even look like for her, so she takes another shot, lights another smoke, and tells herself to forget about it.

Oh! Sounds like Neighbor Boy is testing out that piano already. She squints through his window and sees his silhouette leaning over the keys.

_God, I hope he doesn’t suck. That shitty saxophonist who used to live there was the worst._

Huh. He has a good touch, Rey nods to herself appreciatively. Perhaps he will be tolerable, after all.

What song is this? She _knows_ this song…

It floats across the alleyway and in through her window, cloyingly familiar. Each note steps carefully through the evening sunlight, testing the waters, calling out hesitantly and pausing, seeming to listen for an echo.

“Ha!” She snaps her fingers and points at him through the wall...not that he can see her. “ _Somewhere!_ Brubeck version! _Got it!_ ”

She’s so satisfied with herself that she does a victory shot in celebration.

Closing her eyes, she leans her head on her forearms where they rest on the windowsill. The liquor pulses warmly in her veins, blurring the sharp lines and ragged edges of her thoughts, and soon she finds herself singing mindlessly along with the familiar dips and sways of the music.

Thank fuck he wasn’t a saxophonist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ "Somewhere" by Dave Brubeck Quartet ](https://youtu.be/-XHwoYxTNQY)


	2. i will survive

Rey isn’t one for blind dates, but Rose had insisted.

_Just try it,_ she’d said. _You’re getting into a funk. You need a distraction._

_I’m perfectly content in my bubble of soul-crushing loneliness, thank you,_ Rey had replied with dignity.

_Get a lot of dick in that bubble?_ Rose had scoffed.

_I don’t need any dick in my bubble,_ Rey had scowled.

_Everybody needs dick in their bubble,_ Rose had hissed over the wall between their cubes. _I’m a lesbian, and I still need dick in my bubble!_

_I thought you were bi?_

_JUST GO ON THE DAMN DATE, REY._

So, Rey went on the damn date.

The second he opened his mouth and said _Hi my name is Brad_ , with his fake tan and his bleached teeth, Rey knew things weren’t going to go well. He looked like he spent every day suckling greedily at a canister of whey protein. But Rey thought, _Don’t judge a book by its cover; he may have Hidden Depths._

Oh, how naïve Rey was, two hours ago. How young and filled with hope. She knows better, now.

They made it through breadsticks, salad, soup, and pasta, and Rey was never once given permission to speak. To her credit, it was not for lack of trying. She really, truly tried. She pulled out all the usual first-date topics. There’s _What I Do for Money_ (administrative support at an architectural firm), _What I Do for Fun_ (drink excessively, chain smoke, binge true crime documentaries), _What I Would Do if I Had a Million Dollars_ (invest that shit and never work again, buy a house in the middle of nowhere, and live as a hermit, keeping bees and brewing her own beer).

Not exactly fascinating stuff, granted, but it would’ve been nice to get at least _one_ sentence out without being interrupted or talked-over.

After getting cut off for the fourth time, Rey had pulled her phone out and sent a text. She thought about texting discreetly under the table, but figured this guy was so self-absorbed, she could probably start sending smoke signals in the middle of the dining room without him breaking the stride of his self-obsessed rant.

**_Rey, 7:43:_ ** _your matchmaking privileges have been revoked._

**_Rose, 7:45:_ ** _come on. he’s not that bad. you’re just rusty. and picky. and look at his muscles! he has so many of them!_

**_Rey, 7:46:_ ** _they are indeed majestic, but they’re the wrong color_

**_Rose, 7:47:_ ** _ah fuck I TOLD him not to get that spray tan_

**_Rey, 7:48:_ ** _the spray tan would be nothing if he wasn’t such an unmitigated douchebag_

**_Rey, 7:48:_ ** _…and he has soft hands_

**_Rose, 7:49:_ ** _that’s a problem??_

**_Rey, 7:50:_ ** _I’m not talking “I use lotion regularly” soft, I’m talking newborn baby soft. like, I’ve-never-opened-a-pickle-jar soft._

**_Rose, 7:51:_ ** _ok that’s a little weird_

**_Rey, 7:52:_ ** _we shook hands and I literally shuddered. I think he thought I…_

“Who are you texting?” Brad had inquired testily, leaning forward on his elbows to look over Rey’s fingers at the screen.

Rey blinked in shock. She honestly thought he had forgotten she was there. Then she set her phone face-down on the linen tablecloth. “Wait,” she said, “Are you _actually_ asking me a ques—”

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to be on your phone while your _date_ is trying to make conversation?”

Rey crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. The _nerve_ of this asshole. “What I _think_ —"

“I can’t believe I let Rose talk me into this,” Brad leaned back in his chair hard enough that the front feet thumped back onto the floor. “When she showed me your picture, I was like, _Meh, why not_ , but she didn’t mention how—”

“Aaand I’m done. Waitress? Checks, please. Separate. Thanks.”

Brad downed the last of his wine and started picking up speed on his tantrum. “I can’t believe how entitled women are. I don’t know where you get off—”

Rey held up a hand. “This is the part where you shut the fuck up,” she informed him in a level tone. “I’ve been listening to you talk for an _hour_. I am _done_ listening to you talk.”

Brad sat back with his mouth half open, leaving them in sweet, sweet silence. The waitress dropped off their checks, then stood and waited for them to hand the trays back. Rey was fairly certain she just wanted to eavesdrop.

“You are one stuck-up bitch,” Brad finally got out. The waitress pressed her lips together uncomfortably.

“You’ve got me, there,” Rey conceded dryly as she counted bills out of her wallet.

“Do you get _off_ on being a twat, or something?”

“How _else_ could a woman get off, around you?” She inquired politely.

The waitress tried to pass off her snort as a cough. It didn’t work, and Brad glared up at her through narrowed eyes.

“Well, there goes _your_ tip,” he told her flatly. She flushed, humiliated.

Rey pulled out an extra twenty. “Here you go,” she said as she tucked it daintily into the waitress’s apron pocket. “Use it to buy a vibrator, or something. Apparently, that’s the best you can hope for in this town.”

One corner of the waitress’s mouth ticked up. “My boyfriend is _lovely_ , actually,” she said. Then, more quietly, “He actually just moved across the country for me while I finish my Doctorate.”

“What a nice guy,” Rey breathed, feeling deep in her bones that there wasn’t a person on the planet who cared about her that much. Rey told herself she wasn’t crying, that her eyes were just watering because of all the candles everywhere.

The waitress smiled gently. “They aren’t _all_ meatheads and misogynists, you know.”

“I hope you’re right. I don’t _think_ you are, but I _hope_ you are.”

Brad had tried several times to interrupt, but the women were busy sharing a moment of sisterly solidarity, where they squeezed hands and laughed into each other’s eyes. In Rey’s peripherals, she saw him finally make an indignant exit.

“When you find a good one, bring him here so I can shake his hand. I’ll drag Armie along and we can do a double date,” the waitress grinned. Rey checked her nametag. _Gwendolyn_.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Gwendolyn.”

“Ugh. Call me Gwen. And why don’t you kill some time at the bar for a bit, in case that guy…” Gwen trailed off, looking at Rey worriedly. “You know.”

“…Does something stupid? I’m sure it wouldn’t be his first time. But no,” Rey checked her watch, relieved that it was only 8:15. “I’ve got better places to be.”

They shared one last warm smile as Rey pulled on her coat and ducked out into the chilly April night with a to-go bag of breadsticks. She walked briskly for a few blocks before she allowed herself to shed a few tears, kicking herself roundly for actually letting that shitdick get to her.

She had never been more relieved to kick off her heels, throw on some sweats, and plant herself next to the window.

She pulls a breadstick out and checks her watch. 8:28.

Neighbor Boy should start playing soon. He played at 8:30 every night like clockwork, and she didn’t want to miss the show. It had only taken a few days for eavesdropping on his piano-playing to become her new favorite hobby. It was like getting a free concert four or five nights every week. It was glorious. It gave her life.

She checks her watch again. 8:32. Any minute, now.

_Ahhh, there he goes…_

He meanders through a few finger exercises before abruptly galloping off into a New Orleans jazz number. She lights a cigarette and leans her head back against the sash, trying to pick up the melody and guess the song. It’s only as he’s hammering out the final, triumphant chord that she realizes that it’s _We Suck Young Blood_ by Radiohead. She laughs out loud when she finally guesses it.

He likes to take familiar songs and improvise them into something completely obscure, and Rey likes to listen and pick them apart again. There’s a dry, ironic twist to many of his compositions that she appreciates—for instance, a dizzyingly fast, minor key version of “It’s a Small World, After All” that’s all speedy arpeggios and playful, sudden stops. He’s made her laugh out loud into the alleyway more than once.

Ah: it seems he’s played out his energy and has wandered into a lilting rendering of Regina Spektor’s _Summer in the City_. She pricks her ears and thinks she can even hear the barest hint of a pitchy, mumbling baritone softly intoning the lyrics, and she must say, the song takes on a different color entirely when sung in a man’s voice.

He stops abruptly, and Rey squints at him through the window in irritation. Oh, he’s taking a phone call. It goes on for a few minutes, and she drums her fingers impatiently. Then she sees him slump over, resting his head on top of the piano, looking defeated, somehow.

Then—finally—he starts to play, again.

Ah, she knows this one right off the bat; _Why Try to Change Me Now_ , Fiona Apple’s rendition, played with almost sarcastic conscientiousness. Rey laughs a little, the lyrics rolling around in her mind.

As he moves from the first verse to the second, the tone of his playing shifts from sniping to melancholy, his touch on the keys lingering, the sustain bleeding the notes together mournfully. Rey finds herself staring at the floor, her cigarette forgotten and turning to ash between her fingers, slow tears dripping off the end of her nose.

_Why try to change me/Why would you want to change me?/Why try to change me now?_

_That man had called me a stuck-up bitch, and a twat, and I was so weak that I actually let that ignorant troglodyte hurt my feelings at all. Well, so what if I **am** a stuck-up bitch? So what if I’m the twattiest twat that ever twatted?_

_Why try to change me **now** , asshole?_

Rey glances up and realizes that the music has stopped. He must be packing it in. She sighs, swiping the tears off her face angrily. She’s just starting to stand up and get ready for bed when she sees him crank his window open a little wider and light a cigarette.

She decides to stay and light one of her own.

***

Ben leans his head against the window, letting smoke trail lazily out of his mouth. The hand without a cigarette clenches and unclenches mechanically against his thigh, and he tries to time his breathing to each one until the red recedes from the edges of his vision.

_Fuck you, Dad._

_Fuck you right to hell._

_It’s been three weeks already, when are you going to come home?_ Dad had said over the phone. Ben said nothing.

_The south side of the barn needs repaired before the snow hits,_ he’d said. Ben said nothing.

_The fence in the lower pasture has broken down and the Deere needs some work,_ he’d said, and Ben said nothing.

Then, yelling: _Look, you didn’t have to move back, but you did. How many excuses am I gonna have to make to your mother before you man up? She loves you! She misses you! Or don’t you care?_

Ben hung up. He had tried to go on playing, but his hands had started to shake and fumble at the keys, which only pissed him off more. He gave up after one song.

As he releases another cloud of smoke out the window, he sees a matching plume drift out of the window directly across the alley from him, curling up through the yellow beam of the streetlight. Looks like he wasn’t the only one who doesn’t like smoking with the crowd next to the dumpster. He was about to snub his smoke out when he sees them toss their own, and push the window open a little more.

Oh. It’s a girl.

A pretty one, from what he can tell in the light.

She waves at him.

He waves back, a little dumbstruck.

She holds up a finger and ducks out of sight. When she pops back into view, she presses a piece of paper against the glass.

**GREETINGS, PIANO-PLAYING NEIGHBOR BOY,** it says in neat block letters, lit from behind by a lamp in her room. Ben laughs and waves again to acknowledge her message. She pulls it down and starts writing another.

**DO YOU TAKE REQUESTS?** This one says.

Ben gets up and fishes around in a box, looking for a legal pad.

**ANYTHING BUT “PIANO MAN”** , he writes, and presses it against the window. He sees her laugh, rolling her eyes.

**WELL, FINE. BE THAT WAY** , she writes back. She pulls it down and starts writing another.

**“I WILL SURVIVE,” BOOGIE-WOOGIE STYLE** , it says. She puts a finger to her lips in thought, then writes another: **AS ANGRILY AS POSSIBLE, PLEASE.**

He tips his head back, laughing aloud. Why hadn’t he ever thought of that combination? He starts writing out another message.

** ANGRY ** **BOOGIE-WOOGIE, YOU SAY?**

**I DO SAY, GOOD SIR.**

Ben stands and rubs his palms together absently, taking a moment to knit the structure of the song together in his mind. Then, he writes: **WITH PLEASURE, MADAM.**

And he seats himself at the keys and gives her the most aggressive boogie-woogie he can muster.

When he returns to the window, Ben sees her laughing and clapping. He gives her his best regal bow, even though she probably can’t see him very well.

**GLORIOUS** , she writes. **A BALLAD FOR THE AGES.**

She sets her paper down and leans on the window sill, chin resting on her folded arms, eyes closed, with a crooked, contented smile on her face. Her messy, chestnut hair is trailing over one shoulder and swaying a little in the breeze.

It takes him all of five seconds to decide to press his cellphone number up to the glass.

She raises a brow, seeming to think on it. Ben’s gut clenches a little. She leans down, looking for something on her floor.

His phone pings with a new text message.

_I’m Rey_ , it says.

_I’m Ben,_ he taps back.

 

**_Rey, 9:15pm:_ ** _you’re quite the upgrade from the shitty saxophonist who used to live in your apartment, let me tell you_

**_Ben, 9:16pm:_ ** _that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. thank you_

**_Ben, 9:17pm:_ ** _btw do you make signs for a living? you have very tidy handwriting_

**_Rey, 9:18pm:_ ** _thank you, I was valedictorian in Very Tidy Handwriting School_

**_Ben, 9:18pm:_ ** _I can tell_

**_Rey, 9:20pm:_ ** _would you mind if I saved you as Neighbor Boy in my phone? I’ve been calling you that since you moved in, and I don’t adapt well to change_

**_Ben, 9:23pm:_ ** _I’m honored. I’m not great at coining nicknames so you’ll just be ‘Rey’ in mine._

**_Rey, 9:24pm:_ ** _booooriiiinng_

**_Ben, 9:25pm:_ ** _fine, you can be ‘Demanding Girl,’ then._

**_Demanding Girl, 9:26pm:_ ** _that’s slightly better. slightly._

**_Ben, 9:27pm:_ ** _well excuse me for not coming up with something as breathtakingly original as ‘Neighbor Boy’…_

**_Demanding Girl, 9:29pm:_ ** _touche._

The dots light up at the bottom of the phone for a while, and Ben lights another cigarette as he waits for her response. They disappear, then light up again, then disappear. He’s halfway through his cigarette and the dots are still appearing and disappearing as she struggles for words.

He looks over at her window. Her elbow is resting on the sill and she’s pinching the bridge of her nose, frowning deeply in thought. He cranks the window open a little wider.

“Any day, sweetheart!” He shouts across the alley. Her head pops up and she casts him an indignant squint.

“Just give me a minute! Jesus!” She calls back.

“I’ve given you five minutes! Five!” He holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers. She gives him just one finger back (the middle one), then returns to typing on her phone.

His phone finally pings.

**_Demanding Girl, 9:37pm:_ ** _I’m trying to figure out how to have a normal conversation without coming across as a total fucking weirdo, is that so hard to understand??_

Ben tips his head back against the sash and laughs out loud. Then he pops his cigarette between his teeth so he can use both hands to type.

**_Ben, 9:39pm:_ ** _If you were trying to come across as ‘normal,’ I’m afraid that ship has sailed_

**_Ben, 9:40pm:_ ** _so you might as well be as weird as you want._

**_Demanding Girl, 9:42pm:_ ** _oh have it your way, then!!_

The dots appear and disappear a few times. A few minutes drag by as he watches her expectantly, a playful grin lurking at the corners of his mouth. Finally, his phone pings.

**_Demanding Girl, 9:47pm:_ ** _I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand small talk. why don’t you take the reins of this conversation before I fuck it all up_

**_Ben, 9:49pm:_ ** _that makes two of us. let’s keep it simple, then: why did you make that particular song request?_

Across the alley, he watches her heave a sigh and light another cigarette. She takes a long, slow drag with her eyes closed before she starts typing back.

**_Demanding Girl, 9:53pm:_ ** _you ever have a date so bad it makes you look forward to dying alone?_

**_Ben, 9:53pm:_ ** _quite a few, actually._

**_Demanding Girl, 9:54pm:_ ** _go on._

**_Ben, 9:56pm:_ ** _they were just uncomfortable and humiliating. nothing that would make a good story, even._

**_Demanding Girl, 9:58pm:_ ** _what a rip-off_

**_Ben, 10:00pm:_ ** _it’s insult to injury. so you just needed some angry boogie-woogie to exorcise those bad-date demons?_

**_Demanding Girl, 10:01pm:_ ** _I suppose so :/_

**_Ben, 10:02pm:_ ** _well? did it work?_

**_Demanding Girl, 10:03pm:_ ** _not as much as talking with you has, tbh_

Ben lifts his head and tries to make eye-contact with Rey across the alley, but it looks like she can’t see him through the wavy glass of his old window. He types back, studiously ignoring the warm feeling blooming in his chest.

**_Ben, 10:06pm:_ ** _aw. I’m touched_

**_Demanding Girl, 10:07pm:_ ** _yeah yeah yeah. well, it’s past my bed time, so…_

**_Ben, 10:08pm:_ ** _…so?_

**_Demanding Girl, 10:09pm:_ ** _so I’m just gonna scuttle back under my bridge for the night, I guess_

**_Ben, 10:09pm:_ ** _are you saying you’re a troll_

**_Demanding Girl, 10:11pm:_ ** _I mean_

**_Demanding Girl, 10:11pm:_ ** _if the shoe fits_

**_Ben, 10:13pm:_ ** _well those peasants won’t terrorize themselves, I suppose_

**_Demanding Girl, 10:14pm:_ ** _well said, sir._

Ben taps his finger against the side of his phone, hesitant, considering. Finally, he decides to keep it simple.

**_Ben, 10:16pm:_ ** _sleep tight, Rey._

**_Demanding Girl, 10:16pm:_ ** _don’t let the bed bugs bite. or do, if that’s your kink. idk_

Rey shoots him finger-guns from across the alley, then closes her window and ducks out of sight.     

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ "We Suck Young Blood" by Radiohead ](https://youtu.be/ZF5uqVdCvnA)
> 
> [ "Summer in the City" by Regina Spektor ](https://youtu.be/3mHEYtz-0dc)
> 
> [ "Why Try to Change Me Now" by Fiona Apple ](https://youtu.be/8MGq7vTIDmE)
> 
> [ "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor ](https://youtu.be/GLHY0Pqeyzw)


	3. the nearness of you

It’s just after ten in the morning, and the only sound in the oppressively gray little office is the dim ticking of the wall clock, the occasional clicking gurgle of the water cooler, and the rhythmic tapping of Armie’s fingertips against his keyboard.

Armitage—Ben’s partner in their small accounting business—had greeted him that morning with a brief but thorough overview of their task list for the day, and then left him entirely to his own devices. This would have come as a welcome relief, if not for the fact that they were the only two people sharing an ever more suffocating silence.

Ben looks outside longingly. Their new office is on the ground floor of a small strip of shop fronts and the windows look out onto a tree-lined street bustling with pedestrians—none of whom seem to be keen on securing the services of a personal accountant on this unusually sunny and fine spring morning.

As time drags on, Ben becomes increasingly twitchy and agitated, restless energy running through him like an electrical current. He needs to _move_.

His chair makes an obnoxious groan as he stands up and stalks over to the door, pulling it wide and propping it open. A crisp breeze and faint music from the restaurant across the street come drifting in.

He turns back to his desk with a contented sigh, then halts when he finds Armitage staring at him in confusion.

“You never open doors or windows,” Armitage observes flatly, hands hovering, frozen, over his keyboard.

Ben looks back over his shoulder at the sun-dappled sidewalk outside. “Well, it’s a…” he blows a breath out through his cheeks, scrubbing his palms down the sides of his tweed suit jacket. “It’s a nice day,” he explains lamely.

“Thought you had allergies,” Armitage points out, somewhat owlishly.

“Well, today they aren’t bothering me,” Ben says tetchily, scratching the back of his neck.

“Huh,” Armitage responds, turning back to his monitor.

Conversation peters out into nonexistence, and Ben’s thoughts drift inevitably to Rey.

He thinks of her pointed, mischievous face. Her messy, chestnut hair. Her skin, that seemed to glow golden in the light of the street lamp. Seeing her across the alley had felt like finding a shiny new penny on the sidewalk, just for him.

Ben frowns down into the scuffed glass surface of his desk and sees the dim reflection of his own face, with its slightly too-long nose, its slightly too-weak chin, its eyes that are too intense, too inwardly-focused. The dark, messy hair pulled down to hide over-large ears. The skin, once sun-browned and calloused, grown pale and soft from too much time under fluorescent lights.

And he sighs. He just…sighs.

“Hey Armie?” He calls across the office.

“Hmm,” Armitage inquires, bored.

“Did you mention something about documents that needed to be shredded?”

He waves him off to the door of the storage room in the back. “Have at it, Benjamin. But _do_ try to keep it down, if you can.”

***

When Rey’s phone pings on the far side of her cubicle, she lunges for it and falls out of her desk chair in the process.

“You okay over there?” Rose’s chipper face pops up like a prairie dog over the top of the cubicle wall.

“Fine,” Rey grumbles, pushing her hair off her face and slumping back into her chair. “Just peachy. Now go away.”

Rose shrugs and ducks back into her cube.

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:42am_ ** _: you’ll never guess what I’m doing._

**_Rey, 10:44am:_ ** _can I make some guesses anyway?_

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:44am:_ ** _have at it_

**_Rey, 10:45am:_ ** _sharpening your permanent markers?_

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:45am:_ ** _…no._

**_Rey, 10:46am:_ ** _changing the antifreeze in the copier?_

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:46am:_ ** _no. though I haven’t taken it for an oil change in a while; thank you for reminding me._

**_Rey, 10:47am:_ ** _are you pruning your shoe laces? can’t let them grow too long_

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:48am:_ ** _I never learned how to tie my shoes. all my shoes are velcro._

**_Rey, 10:48am:_ ** _are they light-up shoes_

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:49am:_ ** _please, I’m an adult._

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:49am:_ ** _of COURSE they light up._

**_Rey, 10:50am:_ ** _sorry, didn’t mean to offend._

**_Rey, 10:52am:_ ** _ok, I give up. what are you doing?_

Rey stares at her phone screen, blocking out the ambient office noise of copiers and clacking keyboards as she waits for his response, ignoring the way her palms have gotten a little sweaty and her heart has started stammering like a nervous school girl at show and tell.

An image file pops up in the thread and her heart freezes. With a deep breath, as she opens it.

It’s a picture of neatly-shredded squares of paper, stacked in even, little rows across a folding table. In the corner of the image is Ben’s hand, giving a thumbs-up.

**_Rey, 10:56am:_ ** _what the fuck_

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:56am:_ ** _drumroll, please_

**_Rey, 10:57am:_ ** _I’m drumming on my desk for you._

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:57am:_ ** _thank you. I am…hand-shredding tax documents! because our shredder is broken! hurray._

He sends her a GIF of exploding confetti.

**_Rey, 10:59am:_ ** _I swear to God if you get a papercut and can’t play piano tonight…_

**_Neighbor Boy, 10:59am:_ ** _…then you’ll do what?_

Rey chews the inside of her cheek, reviewing her options. She could keep it light and pass it off as a joke. She could just change the subject. But, as per protocol, she ends up being more honest than intended.

**_Rey, 11:01 am:_ ** _I’ll probably cry into my bowl of Ramen, tbh_

**_Neighbor Boy, 11:02am:_ ** _in my experience the tears add flavor_

**_Rey, 11:02am:_ ** _true story_

**_Rey, 11:03am:_ ** _but seriously listening to you play is the highlight of my day, don’t fuck this up for me._

***

Ben sits at the folding table smiling down at his phone.

“What’s so funny?” Armitage inquires, his copper-colored head poking around the door frame. Ben jumps, knocking his elbows noisily against the table.

“Ahh…” Ben tries to come up with a lie or a distraction—and fails. He sits at the table, phone cradled in his hands, looking flummoxed.

Armitage nods to himself knowingly and seats himself opposite Ben, folding his hands on the table and looking at Ben thoughtfully.

“Benjamin, how long have we been friends?”

Ben does a quick tally in his head and says, “Eight-ish years?”

“Eight years and four months, to be precise. You really think I can’t tell when something is going on?”

Ben’s face is carefully blank. “Something…is going on?”

Armitage nods. “Let us consider the evidence, shall we? First,” he holds up a finger, “You open the door for some fresh air, when only yesterday you were griping about the pollen count and blowing your nose like someone’s sickly grandmother. Second,” he holds up another finger, “You’re _mooning_.”

“I am _not_ moon—”

“You are _mooning_. You sat and stared at your desk for an hour and a half this morning, the very picture of melancholy. Third,” Armitage holds up yet another incriminating finger, “You didn’t throw a fit about the shredder being broken. Normally, you would’ve punted it into the dumpster in a rage. And now,” he waves a hand at Ben as if to take in the entirety of him. “ _Now_ , I catch you hiding in the back room, hunching over your phone with the dumbest grin I’ve seen on your face in ages.”

Ben folds his hands over his phone, covering the accusing screen beneath his palms. “And all this to say…?”

“Benjamin. Be honest with me. You aren’t talking to Bazine again, are you?”

Ben blinks. He hadn’t even _thought_ of Bazine in months. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you lying to me?” Armitage’s face scrunches into a frown. “Because if she’s bothering you again, I swear to God, I don’t _care_ if she _is_ a woman, I’ll—”

Ben laughs, his embarrassment seeping out of him in relief. “I’m not talking to Bazine. I’m talking to…” He trails off, hard-pressed to come up with a definition for this odd, fledgling connection with his neighbor. “I’m talking to someone new.”

Armitage re-folds his hands on the tabletop and gives a quick, business-like nod. “Very well. Yes. Good. Keep it up then, this is the least miserable you’ve been in quite some time.”

“Thank you--?” Ben says, his brows furrowing in irritation. “If you’re done with your lecture, I’d like to get back to my conversation.”

“Well, be quick about it,” Armitage says dismissively, rising from his seat. “We have a pile of last-minute tax extensions to process by week’s end.”

When Armitage is finally out of sight, Ben unlocks his phone to find several texts.

**_Demanding Girl, 11:03am:_ ** _but seriously listening to you play is highlight of my day, don’t fuck this up for me._

**_Demanding Girl, 11:04am:_ ** _I’m sorry if that’s weird. I promise I’m not stalking you._

**_Demanding Girl, 11:04am:_ ** _MUCH, anyway_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:07am:_ ** _ok well in that case I promise I’m not stalking you and I’m sorry if I weirded you out just now_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:08am:_ ** _you’re just incredibly talented and listening to you is a joy, that’s all, GOD_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:15am:_ ** _welp, I can see I’ve made this awkward, it’s ok, I’ll just go kill myself now. have a nice day ben_

“God damn it, Armitage,” Ben grumbles and begins rapidly typing.

**_Ben, 11:21am:_ ** _DON’T GO_

**_Ben, 11:21am:_ ** _I was just tied up for a bit, my business partner ambushed me with a time-consuming lecture about my behavior_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:23am:_ ** _well maybe you shouldn’t grab his ass so often_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:23am:_ ** _didn’t you have to watch those sexual harassment training videos when you got hired?_

**_Ben, 11:24am:_ ** _well, we’re owner-operators, so we conveniently forgot about those_

**_Ben, 11:25am:_ ** _also if he didn’t want his ass grabbed, maybe he shouldn’t have worn those form-fitting slacks. he knows how his scrawny legs get me going._

**_Rey, 11:25am:_ ** _gross._

**_Ben, 11:26am:_ ** _ALSO we’ve been friends for nearly a decade. if he stuck with me through my college years it’s safe to say he’s going to stick around regardless_

**_Rey, 11:28am:_ ** _fair enough. what WAS he yelling at you for, anyway?_

Ben kicks the heel of his scuffed brown dress shoe against the leg of his chair, considering how to respond. Lie? Make a joke? Change the subject?

He huffs through his nose. _Fuck it,_ he thinks.

**_Ben, 11:31am:_ ** _apparently I’ve been smiling too much today and he found it suspicious_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:32am:_ ** _smiling? you? that IS suspicious_

**_Ben, 11:32am:_ ** _you’ve never even seen me._

**_Demanding Girl, 11:33am:_ ** _well if your friend of nearly a decade finds it suspicious I can’t help but agree_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:34am:_ ** _bit of a dolorous fellow, are we?_

**_Ben, 11:34am:_ ** _a bit. admittedly._

**_Demanding Girl, 11:35am:_ ** _I KNEW there was a reason we got along so well :)_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:36am:_ ** _why so smiley, Dolorous?_

Ben sets his phone down, sighing through his nose. Another tight-rope question. He scrubs a hand down the side of his face, trying to figure out what to say that’s honest without coming on too strong and scaring her off.

**_Ben, 11:38am:_ ** _I don’t like playing in front of people, usually, but knowing that you enjoy it makes me happy._

**_Demanding Girl, 11:38am:_ ** _YOU DON’T PERFORM???_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:39am:_ ** _WHY THE FUCK NOT?????_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:40am:_ ** _sorry. I don’t mean to shout, but seriously. what the fuck_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:40am:_ ** _I guess I just assumed you were a professional musician_

**_Ben, 11:41am:_ ** _not so much._

**_Demanding Girl, 11:42am:_ ** _so I’m your only fan?_

**_Ben, 11:42 am:_ ** _so far as I know?_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:43am:_ ** _how am I supposed to start a fan club all by myself_

**_Ben, 11:43am:_ ** _I’m sure you’ll come up with something._

**_Ben, 11:44am:_ ** _is Rey short for anything, by the way?_

**_Demanding Girl, 11:45am:_ ** _reyzabelle. is ben short for anything_

**_Ben, 11:45am:_ ** _benzabelle._

**_Demanding Girl, 11:46am:_ ** _what a coincidence_

**_Ben, 11:46am:_ ** _amazing!_

_***_

That night, Rey cooks up a big bowl of Ramen noodles and settles in on the couch in front of a John Wayne Gacy Netflix special. She checks her watch: 7:15. She sighs. More than an hour to kill.

After spending the day with her face attached to her phone, Rey can’t help the curiosity—and the _hope_ , dammit—sneaking into the back of her mind. She’s been stuffing it down for hours, but now that she doesn’t have any distractions, she sighs and allows herself to humor the emotions sneaking up from some icky basement deep in her subconscious.

What does Ben look like? How old is he? Does he have a girlfriend? Does he _want_ a girlfriend? Does he even like girls? If he does, is Rey his type? Ugh, even if she is, she’s sure to be a disappointment. With her split ends, her small bustline, and her complete lack of a skin care regimen, she wouldn’t stand a chance anyway.

On the other hand, maybe _he_ isn’t a looker, either. After all, she’d only caught blurred glimpses of him through the window, just a passing impression of pale skin and dark hair. Just a hand holding a cigarette, attached to a dark-sleeved arm, washed in the dusky light of a street lamp. Maybe he’s a nice, bland, ordinary sort. Maybe _she_ could be The Hot One in the relationship, for once. _That_ would be refreshing.

She stands up with a sigh and walks over to her window, hoisting up the rickety thing and pausing a moment to revel in the gentle spring rain drifting down from the eaves high above. It’s a cold, gray, dismal evening: Rey’s favorite. She checks her watch again: 7:45.

She decides to kill time putting the kettle on and making a cup of tea.

She returns to the sill with a steaming mug of Earl Grey and an old blue afghan that had been gifted to her in her teens by one of her foster mothers. She’d hung onto it for eleven years, now, carefully patching and repairing it from time to time. It was her literal security blanket.

She checks her watch. 7:53. She blows a sigh out through her teeth and lights a cigarette.

Then…gently, quietly…a rain-like patter of musical notes comes wafting to her through the air, half an hour early.

She smiles in relief and lets her head rest on her forearms, letting the melody fall over her like a cozy curtain, blocking out unpleasant reality. The song title, hidden among soft trills and runs, slowly coalesces and the song becomes clear. She laughs abruptly as he hits the final chord.

**_Rey, 8:02pm:_ ** _omg you NERD_

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:02pm:_ ** _I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about_

**_Rey, 8:03:_ ** _Lionel Ritchie? Really??_

She hears a loud bark of laughter come from his window, and then her phone pings his response.

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:04pm:_ ** _Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?_

**_Rey, 8:04pm:_ ** _DORK._

**_Rey, 8:05pm:_ ** _and, ok, yes, it WAS you I was looking for but it’s rude to point that out. you’re playing early today._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:06pm:_ ** _you know my schedule? slow down, stalker_

**_Rey, 8:06pm:_ ** _I prefer the term “stan,” tyvm_

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:07pm:_ ** _moving on. any requests from my #1 stan?_

**_Rey, 8:07pm:_ ** _surprise me. naming the song is half the fun for me_

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:08pm:_ ** _oh so THAT’S your game, is it? very well. you up for a challenge?_

After a moment of consideration, he begins to play again. This one is stomping, rollicking, playful, bursting with full-bodied chords and an infectious rhythm. But though the melody line is clear, she just can’t place the song.

**_Rey, 8:17pm:_ ** _ok, you got me. I don’t know that one._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:18pm:_ ** _that would be “country man” by luke bryan_

**_Rey, 8:19pm:_ ** _are you shitting me_

**_Rey, 8:19pm:_ ** _you just played me a COUNTRY song_

**_Rey, 8:20pm:_ ** _I’m rethinking my fandom_

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:21pm:_ ** _maybe you’re just butthurt that you couldn’t guess the song._

**_Rey, 8:21pm:_ ** _WELL MAYBE I AM, WHAT OF IT._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:22pm:_ ** _hey, you said surprise you. are you surprised?_

**_Rey, 8:23pm:_ ** _less texting, more playing._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:24pm:_ ** _alright alright. but I’m gonna need a drink for the next one_

In the pause that follows, she sees a shadow cross his window, and the light of a fridge opening and closing. The shadow returns to the other side of the room, and she thinks she can see him tip his head back for very long pull off a beer. Christ, he might’ve even drained the whole bottle in one go. She sees him stretch his arms in front of him—cracking his knuckles, maybe?—and give his head and shoulders a shake to loosen up.

His next song begins with a dramatic flare that tapers into downward-thrumming chords, and then launches into a dizzying interplay of rhythms. Rey thinks it sounds like a sword-fight put to music, as again and again it builds itself up, only to come cascading down to dissemble in a flickering back-and-forth of notes. It goes on for four or five minutes, never abating its overwhelming pace. No wonder he needed a drink and a stretch beforehand.

Afterward he seems to crawl to the window to light a cigarette of his own, his hand hanging from the sill in exhaustion.

**_Rey, 8:39pm:_ ** _holy shit_

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:40pm:_ ** _my wrists hurt_

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:40pm:_ ** _can you guess the song?_

**_Rey, 8:41pm:_ ** _not if my life depended on it._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:41:_ ** _well, I’m cheating a little. it isn’t a cover of anything_

**_Rey, 8:43pm:_ ** _you gonna share with the class, or…?_

Rey sees him rest his cigarette on the window sill so he can type with both hands. She can see the suggestion of smoke curling up around the smudge of his face through the window pane.

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:44pm:_ ** _Scherzo Allegro. Brahms._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:45pm:_ ** _when I was a kid, my piano teacher told me I’d never be able to play it_

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:45pm:_ ** _said I had “big, clumsy hick hands” and I would never develop the dexterity_

**_Rey, 8:46pm:_ ** _well it looks like your piano teacher can suck a big ol’ bag of pony dicks, doesn’t it?_

**_Rey, 8:47pm:_ ** _what even are “big, clumsy hick hands” anyway?_

Across the alley, she sees Ben stick both his hands out beneath the crank-out window and spread his fingers for her inspection, first displaying the backs, then the palms, then wiggling his fingers, then making large, intimidating fists that he shakes at her.

Rey gulps a little at the sight of them.

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:50pm:_ ** _THESE are big clumsy hick hands._

**_Rey, 8:51pm:_ ** _admittedly…your hands DO look better-suited to crushing skulls than tickling ivories._

**_Rey, 8:52pm:_ ** _good on you for proving that asshole wrong, Benzabelle._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:53pm:_ ** _thank you, Reyzabelle._

**_Rey, 8:55pm:_ ** _so are you gonna play some more, or…_

Rey knows he’s watching, so she makes a show of checking her watch. Then she leans her head on her hand and taps her fingers on the sill. 

Ben gives her the finger.

 

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:57pm:_ ** _back to your demanding ways, I see._

**_Rey, 8:57pm:_ ** _DANCE, MONKEY._

**_Dolorous Boy, 8:58pm:_ ** _now that’s just demeaning_

**_Rey, 8:58pm:_ ** _DANCE._

**_Dolorous Boy, 9:00:_ ** _ugh, fine, Jesus._

For the next hour, Ben plays and Rey listens. She guesses all the songs but the last, a slow lullaby of a song that makes it feel like someone is running their fingers through her hair to put her to asleep.

**_Dolorous Boy, 10:01pm:_ ** _alright, my hands are giving out. have you had enough?_

**_Rey, 10:02:_ ** _never. but don’t pull a muscle on my account_

**_Dolorous Boy, 10:02:_ ** _a little late for that, but ok_

**_Rey, 10:03:_ ** _oh quit whining and go ice your hick-hands, you big baby_

**_Dolorous Boy, 10:04:_ ** _already cradling a bag of frozen peas, thank you._

Rey gets up with a reluctant sigh, and tries to stretch the knots out of her back. She’s going to have to get a nice, cozy chair to put next to the window, if this keeps up.

That’s assuming it _does_ keep up. Not that she’s keeping her fingers crossed, or anything.

Because nothing good sticks around. But she can enjoy it for a little while, anyway.

She takes a shower, turns out the lights, and slumps into the bed that takes up the corner of her tiny efficiency. She lays in the dark, counting the lines of light and shadow that the streetlight casts through the blinds onto her ceiling. The traffic drums along the street outside in an endless torrent of noise. One of her neighbors is playing a loud video game with his equally-loud friends. Down the hall, another neighbor is having a fight, complete with clattering pans and shouted expletives.

Rey squeezes her eyes shut and tries to block it out.

Without meaning to (no, really, she _didn’t_ ), she thinks of Ben’s hands, and smiles. His big, meaty paws that he’d painstakingly trained to draw out the beauty and subtlety of an instrument. An instrument he’d likely spent a fortune to move into his apartment with him. And not for any professional reason—simply for the joy it brought him…and now her.

The thought makes her happy.

And if his finger dexterity was especially impressive, well. That was beside the point.

The noise of her building is getting to be too much, so she scrolls back up their thread to find the name of the song he’d given her. She pulls it up on Youtube and listens to it again, hoping it will lull her to sleep.

It has the opposite effect.

**_Rey, 11:52pm:_ ** _you didn’t tell me Scherzo Allegro had violins, too!_

**_Dolorous Boy, 11:59pm:_ ** _uh, I’m sorry? if I had some violinists lying around I would’ve made them play, too_

**_Rey, 12:01am:_ ** _I’m sorry if I woke you up, I thought you’d be asleep and get my text in the morning :(_

**_Dolorous Boy, 12:02am:_ ** _I don’t sleep much honestly_

**_Rey, 12:04am:_ ** _one more question and I’ll leave you alone_

**_Dolorous Boy, 12:04am:_ ** _you don’t have to_

**_Rey, 12:05am:_ ** _no, I really DO have to, I promise it will be quick_

**_Dolorous Boy, 12:06am:_ ** _no, I meant you don’t have to leave me alone_

**_Rey, 12:07am:_ ** _…oh_

**_Dolorous Boy, 12:09:_ ** _what were you wondering?_

**_Rey, 12:10am:_ ** _right_

**_Rey, 12:11am:_ ** _what was that last song you played tonight? I couldn’t figure it out_

The pause that follows is so long Rey thinks he’s fallen asleep. She rolls over, facing the wall, swallowing a stupid lump of disappointment clogging the base of her throat.

Her phone pings.

**_Dolorous Boy, 12:21am:_ ** _The Nearness of You. Norah Jones version._

Rey smiles and looks it up on Youtube, hopeful that it will help her finally fall asleep. But the lyrics quickly dash all shreds of sleep from her mind.

_I need no soft lights to enchant me/If you will only grant me_

_The right to hold you ever so tight/And to feel in the night_

_The nearness of you_

Rey stares at the ceiling for a few minutes after the final chords die away. Then she sits up and looks out her window. Ben’s window is dark.

**_Rey, 12:30am:_ ** _just listened to the Norah version. I love it._

**_Dolorous Boy, 12:31am:_ ** _it’s one of my favorites._

**_Rey, 12:32am:_ ** _well…good night, ben._

**_Dolorous Boy, 12:33am_ ** _: good night rey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ "Hello" by Lionel Richie ](https://youtu.be/84RxK4N1wfE)   
>  [ "Country Man" by Luke Bryan ](https://youtu.be/T7PwfXGb57c)   
>  "Scherzo, Allegro"    
>  [ "The Nearness of You" by Norah Jones ](https://youtu.be/Y2OLYmCAQ-A)


	4. no surprises

** Monday **

**_Ben, 7:02pm:_ ** _so Armitage gave me a book to read because it was “just god-awful” and I’ve decided to crack into it today_

**_Rey, 7:03pm:_ ** _Armitage is your work-wife, right?_

**_Ben, 7:04pm:_ ** _for lack of a better term…yes_

**_Rey, 7:05pm:_ ** _gotcha. so is the book as god-awful as promised?_

**_Ben, 7:07pm:_ ** _Christ it’s terrible_

He sends her a picture of the front cover. It _does_ look terrible. There’s like, a killer whale, and something that looks like a laser beam, and a team of Navy SEALs in front of an explosion.

**_Rey, 7:10pm:_ ** _I’m repulsed, yet mysteriously intrigued_

**_Rey, 7:18pm:_ ** _I’m sure it will be a thrilling literary experience. look, there’s even a buxom lady scientist off in the corner, I’m sure there will be smut_

**_Ben, 7:19pm:_ ** _well, wish me luck._

**_Ben, 9:07 pm:_ ** _aaaaand so, after 200+ pages of unnecessary exposition, it seems that the Russians have infected various sea creatures with a mind-control virus_

**_Rey, 9:09 pm:_ ** _oh, that’s a thing?_

**_Ben, 9:10 pm:_ ** _apparently._

**_Rey, 9:17 pm:_ ** _I assume it was Tits McGee who cracked the case_

**_Ben, 9:20 pm:_ ** _tits-who??_

**_Rey, 9:21 pm:_ ** _you know. Tits McGee. The buxom lady scientist in the lab coat on the cover._

**_Ben, 9:22 pm:_ ** _wow. her name is VERONICA, you sexist._

**_Ben, 9:22 pm:_ ** _but yes, it was Tits McGee who made the groundbreaking discovery_

**_Rey, 9:24 pm:_ ** _I’m hazy on why the Russians are set on sea creature domination…?_

**_Ben, 9:25 pm:_ ** _unclear_

**_Ben, 9:25 pm:_ ** _stand by_

**_Ben, 9:48 pm:_ ** _ok so veronica and navy seal guy just boned_

**_Ben, 9:48 pm:_ ** _the sex was oddly perfunctory. I give it 2/5 stars_

**_Rey, 9:49 pm:_ ** _wow that was quick_

**_Ben, 9:50 pm:_ ** _that’s what she said_

**_Rey, 9:50 pm:_ ** _hey-ohhh_

**_Ben, 9:51pm:_ ** _no seriously that’s what she said_

**_Ben, 9:56 pm:_ ** _anyhoo, it remains unclear exactly what military advantage enraged-orcas-on-demand could possibly provide_

**_Ben, 10:00 pm:_ ** _however, it has become evident that the virus is blood-born so the whales can’t be shot or the blood will get in the water and then OH NO ALL THE FISH WILL BE ANGRY_

**_Rey, 10:01 pm:_ ** _ooh, that’s gotta be pretty emasculating for navy seal guy_

**_Ben, 10:03 pm:_ ** _au contraire. he now gets to whip out his huge, throbbing, military-grade uber-laser_

**_Rey, 10:03 pm:_ ** _remind me to add that to my Christmas list_

**_Rey, 10:04 pm:_ ** _wait_

**_Rey, 10:04 pm:_ ** _oh god_

**_Rey, 10:05 pm:_ ** _are they using a laser on the whales because it’ll cauterize the wound and prevent blood from getting in the water_

**_Ben, 10:05 pm:_ ** _bingoooooo_

**_Rey, 10:06 pm:_ ** _THAT’S NOT EVEN PSEUDO-SCIENCE THAT’S JUST STRAIGHT UP NON-SCIENCE_

**_Ben, 10:08pm:_ ** _how dare you question Veronica’s expertise, she is a PROFESSIONAL FISH SCIENTIST_

**_Ben, 10:35 pm:_ ** _ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!!???_

**_Ben, 10:36 pm:_ ** _THEY ARE TRAINING THE WHALES TO CHEW ON UNDERSEA FIBEROPTIC CABLES_

**_Rey, 10:37 pm:_ ** _bwaaaaahahahahaha_

**_Ben, 10:37 pm:_ ** _THAT WAS THE BIG PLAN?!_

**_Ben, 10:38 pm:_ ** _I AM ENRAGED_

**_Rey, 10:39 pm:_ ** _I, too, am outraged at this fictional government’s frivolous use of funds_

**_Rey, 10:42 pm:_ ** _but more importantly, 1) have Tits McGee and navy seal guy boned again and 2) did the laser perform admirably_

**_Ben, 10:43 pm:_ ** _do you mean, did the laser perform admirably in a three-way with Tits McGee and navy seal guy?_

**_Rey, 10:44 pm:_ ** _yes_

**_Rey, 10:44 pm:_ ** _yes, that is exactly what I mean_

**_Ben, 10:45 pm:_ ** _not really. they went at it in the lab and it just sort of lay there like a dead fish_

**_Rey, 10:45 pm:_ ** _don’t you mean a dead whale_

**_Ben, 10:46 pm:_ ** _BOOOOOOO_

**_Rey, 10:47pm:_ ** _is that what she said?_

****

 

** Tuesday ** ****

**_Ben, 9:45am:_ ** _you know, you never told me the story of your Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Date._

**_Rey, 9:47am:_ ** _ahem, well. once upon a time, there was a guy named Brad_

**_Ben, 9:48am:_ ** _“Brad”? well that’s red flag #1_

**_Ben, 9:49pm:_ ** _how’d you wind up with him anyway?_

**_Rey, 9:51am:_ ** _blind date. my work-wife set it up._

**_Ben, 9:51am:_ ** _and your work-wife is…_

**_Rey, 9:52am:_ ** _Rose._

**_Ben, 9:53am:_ ** _got it. so other than his name, what was your first clue that things were going downhill_

**_Rey, 9:55am:_ ** _he had shaved arms._

**_Ben, 9:56am:_ ** _shaved arms?_

**_Ben, 9:56am:_ ** _is that a thing, now?_

**_Rey, 10:00am:_ ** _yeahhhh apparently guys who take weight-lifting “seriously” shave their arms so you can see the muscle definition_

**_Ben, 10:00am:_ ** _you’re shitting me_

**_Rey, 10:01am:_ ** _trust me, he told me alllllll about it. I’m basically an expert now._

**_Ben, 10:03am:_ ** _uhhh. ok. next clue_

**_Rey, 10:04am:_ ** _he had weird, soft, baby hands_

**_Ben, 10:06am:_ ** _I thought women liked when men had soft hands?_

**_Rey, 10:07pm:_ ** _ew, no_

**_Rey, 10:07am_ ** _: I mean, CLEAN hands are one thing, but anyway_

**_Rey, 10:08am:_ ** _we’re getting off-topic_

**_Ben, 10:10am:_ ** _right. next clue?_

**_Rey, 10:14am:_ ** _clue #3 was when I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise for over an hour_

**_Rey, 10:15am:_ ** _all he could talk about was how much money he made and how much time he spent in the gym_

**_Rey, 10:16am:_ ** _it was like being trapped inside an hour-long dude-bro commercial_

**_Rey, 10:18am:_ ** _like, dude-bro, I don’t CARE about your fucking cool-down routine. I don’t CARE about your super-special ‘recovery shake.’_

**_Ben, 10:20am:_ ** _what was in this ‘super-special recovery shake’? asking for a friend_

**_Rey, 10:21am:_ ** _I think he said the special ingredient was “fragile masculinity”_

**_Ben, 10:23am:_ ** _so THAT’S what I’ve been missing!_

**_Rey, 10:26am:_ ** _clues 4 and 5 were when he called me an entitled bitch and a twat, respectively_

**_Rey, 10:38am:_ ** _you there? or is Armitage lecturing you again_

**_Ben, 10:40am:_ ** _Brad happen to mention what gym he goes to?_

**_Rey, 10:41am:_ ** _?_

**_Ben, 10:42am:_ ** _…_

**_Rey, 10:44am:_ ** _what, are you gonna go beat him up for me lol_

**_Ben, 10:48am:_ ** _yes_

**_Rey, 10:50am:_ ** _…oh_

**_Ben, 10:49am:_ ** _I’m sorry if that makes you mad or uncomfortable_

**_Ben, 10:51am:_ ** _but I won’t lie to you_

**_Ben, 10:52am:_ ** _so yes, if you tell me where to find him, I am going to break his nose._

**_Rey, 10:53am:_ ** _in that case it’s the gym on 7th next to the bowling alley_

 

** Wednesday **

**_Rey, 1:45pm:_ ** _so Rose just told me a funny story_

**_Rey, 1:46pm:_ ** _said she ran into Brad on her lunch break just now_

**_Rey, 1:46pm:_ ** _apparently his nose had been broken?_

**_Ben, 1:48pm:_ ** _oh that’s unfortunate_

**_Rey, 1:50pm:_ ** _he said a guy tried to pick his pocket so he beat the piss out of him and the broken nose was just “a lucky shot”_

**_Ben, 1:51pm:_ ** _huh_

**_Ben, 1:52pm:_ ** _he sounds like a really tough guy_

**_Ben, 1:53pm:_ ** _just to be clear, he definitely DIDN’T mention picking a fight with a complete stranger and losing?_

**_Rey, 1:54pm:_ ** _I don’t think so, no._

**_Ben, 1:55pm:_ ** _interesting._

**_Ben, 1:56pm:_ ** _what did Rose do when she saw him?_

**_Rey, 1:57pm:_ ** _smacked him on the nose, of course._

**_Ben, 1:58pm:_ ** _atta girl_

 

** Thursday **

**_Rey, 8:05am:_ ** _ok ben, you know I love whatever you play, but if you give me another playlist like last night I will throat-punch you_

**_Rey, 8:06am:_ ** _who even KNOWS that much Radiohead??_

**_Ben, 8:08am:_ ** _clearly YOU do, since you guessed all the songs correctly. on the first try, I might add._

**_Rey, 8:10am:_ ** _because I was a fucking misanthrope in high school. God…I used to listen to “no surprises” on repeat for daaays_

**_Rey, 8:11am:_ ** _but now Radiohead just makes me sad_

**_Ben, 8:15am:_ ** _well maybe I was feeling sad yesterday_

**_Rey, 8:22am:_ ** _…were you?_

**_Ben, 8:23am:_ ** _maybe_

**_Ben, 8:24am:_ ** _…yeah._

**_Rey, 8:25am:_ ** _what’s wrong?_

**_Ben, 8:26am:_ ** _it’s a long story_

**_Rey, 8:27am:_ ** _good thing I don’t give a fuck about my day-job, so I’ve got time_

**_Ben, 8:30am:_ ** _trust me. you don’t want to listen to me blubber about my ex._

**_Rey, 8:32am:_ ** _would you just start blubbering already, please._

**_Ben, 8:35am:_ ** _fine but don’t say I didn’t warn you_

**_Ben, 8:40am:_ ** _so my ex from college likes to hit me up from time to time to fuck with me. because she knows I’ve got a shitty temper and I can’t help chewing on it for days and weeks at a time_

**_Ben, 8:43am:_ ** _so she hits me up yesterday and she’s all “blah blah blah, we should get brunch or whatever and btw I’ve never had a man treat me as well as you did”_

**_Ben, 8:45am:_ ** _and I’m like OH YOU MEAN A MAN THAT WOULD TAKE YOU BACK EVERY TIME YOU CHEATED ON HIM? like SIX times? THAT kind of man?_

**_Rey, 8:46am:_ ** _oof_

**_Ben, 8:49am:_ ** _the thing is, I don’t give a shit about HER. she’s a crazy, manipulative bitch and always has been, it’s whatever_

**_Ben, 8:51am:_ ** _what PISSES ME OFF is that I fucking KNEW. I KNEW it at the time. and I was so fucking weak and pathetic and stupid that I pretended it was okay so SHE wouldn’t leave ME_

**_Ben, 8:53am:_ ** _but then she left me anyway, so it didn’t even matter._

**_Rey, 8:55am:_ ** _yikes._

**_Rey, 8:58am:_ ** _you wanna know something I’ve never told anyone?_

**_Ben, 8:58am:_ ** _of course_

**_Rey, 9:00am:_ ** _so in high school, I dated a guy twice my age. I stuck it out for FOUR YEARS even though he slapped me around._

**_Rey, 9:01am:_ ** _four years of my life, pissed away on that loser._

**_Rey, 9:02am:_ ** _so maybe you were an idiot in college. so what? we were ALL idiots back then_

**_Rey, 9:04am:_ ** _but that’s not who we are any more_

**_Rey, 9:05am:_ ** _so you know what you’re gonna do now?_

**_Ben, 9:06am:_ ** _yeah_

**_Ben, 9:07am:_ ** _I’m gonna find your ex and break his neck._

**_Rey, 9:08am:_ ** _I was going to say “cheer the fuck up,” but I think I like your plan better_

**_Rey, 9:09am_ ** _: I kill your ex, you kill mine?_

**_Ben, 9:10am:_ ** _you’ve got yourself a deal._

 

 **Friday**  

**_Rey, 7:58am:_ ** _did you find the little note I left for you on my window this morning?_

**_Ben, 8:00am:_ ** _you mean the giant pink heart that said “YOUR WHORE EX-GF BEGGED FOR MERCY AND RECEIVED NONE"?_

**_Rey, 8:01am:_ ** _that’s the one_

**_Ben, 8:03am:_ ** _nope, didn’t see it_

**_Rey, 8:04am:_ ** _dammit_

 

It’s a gray, drizzly Friday afternoon, and the office is lit with the silvery light of rain as it patters gently against the storefront window. Ben and Armitage sit opposite one another at their desks in companionable stillness; the only sounds are the ever-present ticking of the clock, the soft tapping of Ben’s fingertips at his keyboard, and Armie’s quiet munching as he chews his way through the sandwich Gwen packed him for lunch.

Armitage swallows. “Your hand is still swollen. What did you say happened, again?”

“Shut it in the truck door,” Ben mutters absently, pausing his typing to check his phone.

“Oh, so those aren’t tooth marks on your knuckles?”

“Nope.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Armitage says drily.

A few minutes pass. Ben seems completely oblivious to Armie’s intense scrutiny. Oblivious to anything that isn’t his phone screen, really.

“Gwen wants to set you up with someone,” Armitage says casually.

“I’m already seeing someone,” Ben says distractedly as he types a text.

“Oh, so you’ve finally asked her out, then?”

The clock’s second hand ticks eight times before Ben responds.

“No,” he replies with an air of finality.

“Ah,” says Armitage, nodding thoughtfully. “So. You _are_ technically _available_ , then?”

“No.” Ben pretends to read some documents on his desk, shuffling them around as if he were actually working.

Armitage taps a finger on the side of his sandwich, considering his next words. “Gwen says she’s quite a sweet girl,” he informs him. “Very pretty. Says she comes in once or twice a week now, just to chat. Guess they hit it off when Gwen served her during some sort of horrendous blind date.”

“That’s nice,” Ben mumbles, disinterested.

Armitage sighs, setting his sandwich down and folding his hands on top of his desk. “Ben?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Are you familiar with the term ‘shit or get off the pot’?”

Ben glances up, glaring at Armitage murderously out of the tops of his eyes.

“I’m familiar, yes,” he rumbles, irritated. Armitage merely cocks his brows.

“And in what way might this charming colloquialism be related to your _current_ situation, hm?”

Ben leans back slowly into his chair and considers Armitage with a thoughtful expression. “When, exactly, were you going to pop the question to Gwen?”

Armie picks up his sandwich and turns back to his monitor, a flush crawling up his pale neck. “Well. That’s different.”

Ben taps a finger against his lips pensively. “How long have you and Gwen been together, again?”

“Ohhh, I’m not sure, something like—”

“—Four _years?_ ”

“Well the length of _time_ is hardly—”

“And how long have you had the ring?” Ben folds his hands in his lap and leans forward, brows raised expectantly.

Armitage sighs, defeated. “Three and a half years,” he admits, scrubbing a hand down the side of his face.

“Uh huh. Well then. ‘Shit or get off the pot,’ Armitage,” Ben says smugly, picking up his phone.

Armitage shoots him a glare. “Fancy a gentleman’s wager, Benjamin?”

Ben snorts. “As if _you’re_ a gentleman.”

Armitage rears back, offended. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Ben ignores him and continues to move papers from one side of his desk to the other under the pretense of actually working.

Armitage taps one finger on his desk, glowering. “Very well,” he concedes, “Fancy a little bet between friends?”

“Last time I made a bet with you, I wound up naked in the university auditorium.”

“This is hardly the same.”

“In front of an _audience_ , Armie.”

Armitage waves a hand dismissively. “Tosh. You don’t even remember that happening.”

“Because I was blackout drunk!”

“And whose fault was that?!”

Ben wads up a piece of paper and throws it, hard, at Armie’s head. He misses.

Armitage sighs dramatically, picks the ball up off the floor, and throws it back. Ben’s phone pings, distracting him, and he misses the catch. It hits him with a soft _thwup_ in the center of his chest. 

“Just _ask_ her _out_ , Benjamin!” Armie yells, exasperated. “You’re a grown _man_ , for God’s sake, not some mooning schoolboy!”

“I am not! Mooning!” Ben points a finger at him angrily.

“You are _too_ mooning!” Armitage wads up his lunch bag and hurls it in Ben’s general direction.

“Am _not!_ ”

The doorbell tinkles cheerily and the men freeze mid-argument.

“Am I interrupting something?” Gwen inquires politely as she steps in, untying her black apron and tossing it casually onto Armie’s desk.

Armitage flops back into his chair, waving his hand at Ben in irritation. “I was just telling Ben to man up and ask some girl out, already.” Ben rolls his eyes and Armie gets heated. “Oh, what, you think she’ll just _wait_ for you to _get around_ to it? If she’s _half_ as amazing as you say she is, she’s probably already found someone! Someone who actually who _has_ testicles!”

“…Which segues nicely into _my_ news, I’m afraid,” says Gwen with a wry twist of her mouth. She puts her hands on her hips and smiles at Ben apologetically. “The girl I wanted to set you up with has apparently started seeing someone.”

“Oh no. I’m so disappointed,” says Ben, flatly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gwen shakes her finger at him. “None of that. Rey is an absolutely _lovely_ girl and you’re going to regret missing your shot, let me tell you.”

Ben goes still. “What did you say her name was?” He asks, a little weakly.

Gwen frowns, puzzled. “Rey?”

“Ah. _Rey_ ,” Ben says, nodding to himself, eyes distant, his face gone strangely pale. “And, ah…you said you met her during a blind date?”

“That’s right…?” Gwen raises her hands in a confused shrug. “What are you on about?”

“Nothing,” Ben says too quickly. “Did she—who—you said she’s _seeing_ someone?”

“Yeah. Her neighbor or something. Apparently, he plays the piano as well. Which I thought was a funny coincidence…”

Slowly, Ben’s face transforms from a sickly green frown into a radiant, sunny smile.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Armie groans, rolling his eyes and slumping back into his chair. A boyish laugh starts rolling up out of Ben's belly.

Gwen looks back and forth between them. “Did I miss something?” She asks, at a loss.

Ben laughs louder as Armie pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“Just ask! Her! Out! Benjamin! You _bloody_ idiot!”

 

**_Ben, 4:18pm:_ ** _hey are you busy tonight?_

**_Rey, 4:19pm:_ ** _I mean I was planning on getting quietly shitfaced but I could pencil that in for tomorrow_

**_Ben, 4:20pm:_ ** _you wanna help me with a thing?_

**_Rey, 4:21pm:_ ** _yes, I am good at Things._

**_Ben, 4:22pm:_ ** _wonderful. I’ll be on your steps at 7:00pm_

**_Ben, 4:23pm:_ ** _wear something comfortable_

**_Rey, 4:25pm:_ ** _uhhhh_

**_Rey, 4:26pm:_ ** _I’m having second thoughts_

**_Ben, 4:27pm:_ ** _shhh, just do The Thing_

**_Rey, 4:28pm:_ ** _that did NOT make me feel better!!_

**_Ben, 4:30pm:_ ** _see you at 7!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ "No Surprises" by Radiohead ](https://youtu.be/u5CVsCnxyXg)


	5. the thing

Rey smooths the pale-yellow sundress over her thighs, slowly releasing a nervous breath and trying to ignore the sweat on her palms.

She glances outside for the tenth time to check the weather. The rain had cleared around five o’clock and a hot, spring sun had appeared, making the pavement steam and filling the air with the smell of warm earth and green, growing things.

Not that Rey had noticed on her walk from the bus stop. Her head had been spinning with nerves and questions and a thousand insecurities.

She glances back at the full-length mirror hung on her bathroom door. She had gotten this dress last summer in an uncharacteristic fit of girliness and had only just pulled the tags off today. It’s just a simple, sleeveless cotton dress, but she liked the little mother-of-pearl buttons that trailed from the scoop neckline down to the hem of the basic, tea-length skirt.

Rey purses her lips and considers yanking it off in favor of her usual leggings and baggy hoodie. But as she looks in the mirror, she considers the possibility that maybe— _maybe_ —she looks just a little bit pretty. Her hair is tugged up into a messy bun on the back of her head and the loose tendrils of hair that frame her face bring out the hazel of her eyes. The color of the fabric flatters the naturally golden tones of her skin and makes her look almost tan, despite the long winter months hidden from the sun. She runs a fingertip over one side of her delicate collarbone, straightens her shoulders, and checks her watch.

6:48.

Ugh, she thinks she might vomit.

 

 

Across the alley, Ben is in a similar predicament, leaning his hands on the bathroom counter and considering himself moodily in the mirror.

What the fuck could Rey possibly think of this mess?

Ben frowns as his eyes run over his features. He tries running his hands through his hair—hopelessly mussed from the wind on his walk home—to hide the tips of his over-large ears, which seem to be sticking out even more than usual, today. His mouth, already sensitive nearly to the point of being feminine, looks even more pouty and pathetic when it’s paired with the despondent expression clouding his dark eyes.

He scrubs his hands over his face and unwillingly finds himself remembering the advice Dad had given him on his first date at fourteen:

_Girls love confidence, Ben. You’ve got this._

_But I’m **not** confident, Dad._

_You think I felt confident when I met your mother? Just fake it ‘til you make it, kid._

_What if I **don’t** ‘make it’?_

_Then she wasn’t the one._

“Fair point, Dad,” Ben mumbles, turning away from the mirror and tugging on a fresh gray t-shirt. He doesn’t remember if he already freshened up his deodorant, so he throws on another layer just in case. He checks his watch.

6:52.

 _Now or never, Ben,_ he hears his dad say.

“Now or never,” he repeats to the mirror, then grabs his keys off the nightstand and walks out of the bedroom.

He’s almost out the front door when he remembers. He walks back to the kitchen sink and carefully washes his hands, making sure his fingernails are clean and there’s no dirt ingrained in the callouses on his fingers and palms.

Rey had said she liked clean hands.

 

 

Rey stands on her tiptoes to peek out the peephole of the door of her apartment building. All she manages to catch is a brief flash of messy, dark hair. Her hand pauses on the door handle. She takes one last deep breath to still the trembling in her belly and turns the handle.

Ben is standing with his hands in his pockets about halfway down the stairs. He turns to the sound of the door and looks up with a smile.

“Oh! You’re beautiful!” Ben blurts up at her in surprise, then immediately closes his eyes in embarrassment.

“ _Smooth_ ,” he sighs drily, rubbing the back of his neck. He risks a glance up at her through his eyelashes.

“I mean, it could’ve been worse,” Rey shrugs, quickly stuffing down her delight. “You could’ve said, ‘Oh, you’re ugly’.”

The corners of Ben’s mouth turn down in a shy smile. He shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t have,” he says honestly. Rey can’t think of anything clever to say to that, so she just stands there and blushes like an idiot.

“So,” Ben smacks his hands together. “How do you feel about heights?”

Rey looks puzzled. “How _should_ I feel about heights?”

“Positive!” Ben says brightly. “You should feel _positive_. Come on, let’s do the Thing.” He grabs her hand without thinking and tugs her down the stairs. They fall into step easily on the sidewalk, their linked hands swinging a little between them.

Rey’s heart is thumping almost painfully in her chest. His hand is warm and clean and dry, and she wishes she could shrink to the size of a mouse so she could fit her whole body into it.

She sneaks a glance up at him as they walk. The sunlight filtering through the trees is getting caught in his eyes, making them glow the color of warm bourbon, and his dark hair is curling around his neck and earlobes in enticing patterns. He glances down and catches her looking.

“What are _you_ looking at?” He asks, cocking his head.

“You, obviously,” she replies archly. “You are _alarmingly_ large, you know that?”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks lightly, but Rey catches the quiet tremor of uncertainty underneath the question.

“Not at all,” Rey smiles. “I bet you can reach _all_ the tall things. That must be handy.”

Ben gives her hand a little squeeze and it warms her all the way to her toes. “Alright,” he tells her, “We’re taking a right, here.”

“You mean, into this dark alley?”

“That’s correct.”

“Why, exactly, are you leading me down a dark alley?”

“I have my reasons.”

Rey huffs.

He takes her to the base of a rusty metal staircase that climbs the back of his apartment building.

“Alright, up we go,” he says, giving her a little push to go first.

She pauses on the third stair, looking up at flight after flight of rickety steps. “Are we going all the way up?” She asks dubiously. “You didn’t say anything about getting a workout.”

“Don’t be lazy. Now scootch your pooch.” 

“What exactly is my ‘pooch’?”

“Don’t worry about what it is, just scootch it.”

“But what’s at the top?”

“ _Scootch_.”

“Fine! Ugh!”

She’s breathless and her legs are shaking by the time they reach the top landing. Ben’s looking perfectly fine and is giving her a shit-eating grin, leaning back against the bricks next to a grey metal door.

“Well aren’t _you_ just the fit little fiddle,” she remarks darkly, leaning hard on the railing as she tries to catch her breath.

“Yes I am,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“So why the fuck did you bring me here? Are you going to push me off?”

“Believe me, I thought about it every time you bitched on the way up,” he laughs, and she smacks him hard on the chest.

“ _Ow!_ ” She yelps. “Jesus, it’s like slapping a _rock!_ ”

He laughs louder. “Alright, c’mon, whiner, one more flight to go.”

He pushes the door open, then reaches back for her hand.

“The lights don’t turn on, so it’s gonna be pitch black the whole way up,” he explains. “Just follow me.”

She raises a doubtful brow, but takes his hand, nonetheless. As if she would ever need an _excuse_ to take his hand.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, the darkness is so thick she can’t see her hand in front of her face. Her stomach drops and if she maybe clings to his hand a little more tightly, then what of it? As for Ben, he leads her carefully, until he pauses and she hears him fumbling with a door handle.

“Ok,” he says quietly, “You go first.” He pushes the door open.

Rey steps out of the darkness onto the roof of his building, stepping into a brilliant sunset sky.

“Ah,” says Ben with satisfaction behind her. “I was hoping we’d get the timing right.”

Rey’s mouth hangs open as she walks slowly toward the concrete wall at the edge of the roof. “Wow,” she breathes.

From up here, she can look down at the shadows gathering under the trees in the park across the street, where streetlamps twinkle through the branches like floating lanterns. The sky is lit with brilliant orange light, crossed with hypnotic patterns of feathery clouds glowing electric pink and purple. In the east, the sky fades to a soft lavender dotted with the first of the evening stars. She leans against the concrete, closing her eyes; a cool, gentle breeze moves against her dress, making the light fabric kiss the skin of her legs in a delicious way.

Ben steps up beside her, taking a drag on a cigarette. “Worth the climb?” He inquires, a little smugly.

“ _Worth_ the climb,” Rey confirms, still drinking in the view. She looks pointedly at his cigarette and holds out her hand expectantly. He hands her the pack and she lights one up.

They lean next to each other on the wall, smoking in companionable silence as the sunlight slowly fades into shades periwinkle and greenish blue.

“Come on,” Ben says after they snub out their smokes, smacking her arm lightly with the back of his hand. “Let’s get set up before it gets too dark to see.”

She squints. “’Get set up’?”

“Yeah,” he says as though it’s obvious. “I told you I needed your help, didn’t I?”

Rey looks around, confused. “What, are we going to snipe people? You need help sighting the rifle in?”

“As exciting as a killing spree would be, our goals are more mundane tonight.” He takes her hand again and pulls her over to the far corner of the roof, where he shows her a pile of miscellaneous oddments and bags.

She kneels down to pick through it curiously. A couple of folding chaise lounges, a blanket, a twelve pack of beer, some cushions, a bag of pretzels, two wadded-up strings of white lights, and a deck of cards.

She looks up at him where he stands with his hands in his pockets and a little grin on his face.

“Are we setting up a grownup playhouse?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Dibs on the pink stripy cushion.”

“No way. You’ll have to fight me for it.”

She snorts. “Please. I would destroy you.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “As _if_. Now shut up and help me set everything up.”

They put the chairs and cushions in the corner of the roof with the beer and pretzels set politely in between. She hunts around for an electrical outlet while he untangles the string lights. After a brief, businesslike discussion, they decide to run the lights in a perimeter around the whole set up so they can have enough light to play cards by.

“Did you carry all this stuff up here?” Rey asks, pulling open the bag of pretzels.

“I did,” he nods, opening a beer and passing it to her.

“Fit fucking fiddle,” she grumbles, and he gives her another one of his cocky grins. She leans down for the deck of cards. “Are we starting with Go Fish, then?”

He shakes his head. “Boring. Deal out some Gin Rummy.”

“You deal. I can’t shuffle for shit.” She hands him the deck.

“God, you’re helpless,” he comments as he slides the cards out of the box. She watches his hands as they split the deck in half and expertly manipulate the cards through several rounds of shuffles and bridges.

“Maybe at shuffling,” she admits, stretching out her arms and cracking her knuckles in front of her chest. “But not at playing. Prepare to be dominated.”

“Dominated? Should we decide on a safe-word, then?” He asks politely as he deals out their hands.

“My safe-word is ‘ow, stop doing that’,” she says as she looks over her hand.

“That’s a pretty ineffective safe-word,” Ben comments absently, chewing the inside of his lip as he arranges his hand. “You gonna draw, or what?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Rey grumbles and picks up a card.

Rey beats him handily the first round, but Ben rallies and destroys her for the following two. They switch to Go Fish at Rey’s insistence and she beats him swiftly, claiming he has a “tell.” Ben reminds her that there are no “tells” in Go Fish, what does that even _mean_ , and also she’s full of shit because he doesn’t have a “tell” and is _quite_ good at poker, thank you very much. So they switch to Texas Hold ‘Em and he proves it by slaughtering her five hands in a row, at which point Rey demands that they switch to War. The game drags on for half an hour and at some point, they get so caught up in conversation that they forget to play at all. The kill the twelve pack and most of Ben's cigarettes as they lay back in the lounge chairs, talking about any random thing that pops into their heads.

He’s halfway through telling her about the time his dad got _both_ tractors stuck in the swamp behind the back pasture when he notices that she’s shivering under the blanket he’d tossed her not long after they started playing.

“You must be freezing,” he says apologetically, feeling like an asshole. He checks his watch. “It’s past midnight. I can walk you home, if you want to go to bed,” he says, regret clear in his voice.

“No.” Rey says firmly. “I’m having _fun_. I don’t _want_ to go home. I’m just a little _chilly_ , is all.”

“Your lips are turning blue.”

“They are _not_.”

“You’re looking hypothermic.”

“I am _not!”_

“Better come over here and let me warm you up before hallucinations set in,” he laughs. Then he rocks back in surprise when she does precisely that.

Rey snuggles into his side and rests her cheek against his chest with a look of immense satisfaction. He snugs the blanket around her and hesitantly lets his arm come to rest around her waist. She sighs with contentment.

“What?” She asks, tipping her head to glance up at him. “What’s that dumb look on your face for?”

“I just…” he says, still in shock. “I just didn’t think for one _second_ that stupid line was actually going to _work_.”

“Thought you’d never ask, to be honest,” she mumbles into his shirt. “I’m freezing; you’re basically a human radiator; I’d just call that sensible problem-solving.” Rey burrows a little deeper into his side, still shivering.

“’Sensible problem-solving’?” Ben inquires, voice low, casually reaching around her head to pull the elastic out of her hair.

“Yes, that’s right.” Her hair falls in messy chestnut waves over her shoulders. He runs his fingers through it, working out the tangles.

“So…definitely _not_ just a shameless excuse to snuggle?”

“Certainly not. That would be _most_ inappropriate.” She sighs and tips her head so he can scratch her scalp more easily. “That feels heavenly, Ben, thank you.”

“At your service,” he responds quietly.

Several minutes pass this way, Ben absently running his fingers through Rey’s hair while she lays next to him, occasionally turning her head or asking for him to scratch somewhere specific. Ben thinks this might be the most relaxed he’s been in over a decade.

“You know,” he begins, softly, “You could’ve _warned_ me that you were beautiful. That would’ve been the polite thing to do.”

“Well, you didn’t warn _me_ that you were gorgeous, so I’d call it even,” Rey responds, indignant.

“ _Pffffft._ When was the last time you had your eyes checked?” He laughs, tweaking her elbow with two fingers teasingly.

“Um, when was the last time you looked in a _mirror?_ ” She shoots back, propping herself up on her arm and frowning up at him.

Ben rolls his eyes and plants a light peck on her forehead. “That’s very sweet of you. You lying sack of shit.”

Rey squints at him in confusion. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking,” she says slowly. “You really don’t think you’re pretty?”

“Of course I don’t,” Ben shrugs. Rey looks at him like he just won first prize in a dumbass contest and sits up abruptly.

“Hey now,” Ben objects, catching her waist between his hands. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Nowhere. Now listen here, moron,” she says sternly, turning to look at him full in the face. “I’m going to do something that I’ve never done for _any_ other man, _ever_ , so you’d better pay attention.”

Ben’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. His Adam’s apple bobbles a little.

“…And what’s that?” He asks, voice sounding a little dry. He clears his throat.

“I’m going to inflate your ego.”

Ben purses his lips together to hold in a laugh. “Okay, and where _exactly_ do you put your mouth when you go to inflate it…?”

Rey smacks him on the shoulder. He just laughs harder.

“Hilarious,” Rey rolls her eyes. “Now listen up, cupcake. I’m going to hit you with some things. Understand?”

“Well go on. Hit me with it.”

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve seen in the head of any man, ever.”

“They’re brown,” Ben points out skeptically.

“Yes, and when the light hits them just right, they’re the exact color of scotch.”

Ben chews on that. “Good scotch, or cheap scotch?”

“Those are some Johnny Walker Blues, you’ve got there.”

“Don’t you mean Johnny Walker _browns_?”

“Oh, _that’s_ a knee-slapper,” Rey says flatly. “Moving on. Your _hair_. Your hair is almost stupid pretty.”

Ben narrows one of his eyes. “My hair?” He asks, confused, reaching up to touch it self-consciously. “I just grow it long to hide my ears. Which are enormous, by the way.”

“All the better for nibbling on, my dear.”

The ears in question perk up at that. “Is that so?”

“Yes. It’s so.” Rey clears her throat. “Regardless of why you grow it long, it’s lovely.” She reaches out to run her fingers through it. “There,” she sighs with satisfaction, “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“Well why didn’t you?” Ben asks indignantly.

“Because you’re too fucking tall for me to reach it, dummy,” Rey laughs. “Which brings me to my next point: you are a large, muscly, brawny man. You’re basically a walking jungle gym for lecherous women.”

Ben holds her gaze for a minute. He thinks he sees a blush climbing into her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “Are you implying that you would like to climb me?” He asks pointedly.

“Maybe.” Rey sniffs with dignity. “Anyway,” she lays back down, snuggling up under his arm and resting her head on his chest where it belonged. “Rest assured, you are a _very_ pretty man. And the next time you try to take a shit on yourself I’m going to push you down some stairs. Understood?”

“Understood,” Ben echoes. He pulls the edge of the blanket back up over her shoulders and tucks her in close to his side. His other hand rests on his belly, picking at the fabric of his shirt restlessly.

“Oh!” Rey says, remembering. She reaches out and interlaces their fingers. “I love your hick-hands. They’re big and warm and they’re just the right texture.”

“Huh,” Ben says, huffing a laugh through his nose. He lets his thumb begin to run light circles over her knuckles and between her fingers. “I didn’t realize hands could _have_ a preferable texture.”

“Well. Now you know. Tickle my wrists a little while you’re at it, would you?”

Ben grunts his assent and tugs her hand closer so his thumb can reach her wrist.

They lay like that for a long time, long enough that Ben thinks he’s finally soothed her to sleep. But he has one more thing to say.

“Hey Rey?” His whisper is a little rough around the edges.

“Hmmm,” she mumbles sleepily.

“I think you’re my favorite person.”

She squeezes his hand gently. “I _know_ you’re mine,” she replies with a smile in her voice. “Now go to sleep, Benjamin.”


	6. prove it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a challenge :/ observations/constructive criticism welcome!

Ben’s eyes slowly flutter open to find pale, pre-dawn light sifting into the sky and Rey snoring quietly at his side. Somehow, their bodies had gotten switched around and tangled up in the night; Rey was now stretched out on her back, Ben curled around her on his side with one arm wrapped around her waist underneath her. His nose is tucked snugly into the warm, fragrant crook of her neck, and her arm is slung around his shoulders. Her fingers are buried in his hair. He sighs happily and glances down.

His free hand is cupping her left breast.

Ben freezes, glancing quickly up at Rey’s face. She breathes deeply, stirring a little in her sleep. Carefully, he looks back down. He wants _so badly_ to move his fingers, to palm and kneed and _press_ into the soft, inviting heat of her skin. But he withdraws his hand, pinning it safely away against his chest.

Rey draws a deep breath and her eyes crack open slowly. The hand in his hair flexes a little, tugging, and she glances to the side in confusion.

“Oh,” she breathes against his cheek, “It’s morning.”

“It is,” Ben agrees softly, observing how the rosy light of the rising sun falls over her cheekbones. Her arm squeezes around his shoulders a little.

Ben clears his throat. “Full disclosure,” he murmurs, lowering his eyes, “I…woke up holding your boob.”

Rey blinks at him, then looks down at her chest. “Huh,” she says muzzily. “Which one?”

“That one,” Ben points.

“Ah. And—any thoughts?”

“Uh…everything checks out. But…” Ben chews the inside of his lip. “But I think I should check the other one, too. Just in case.”

The corners of Rey’s mouth curl up the slightest bit. “That’s probably a good idea. Safety first.”

Hesitantly, Ben reaches out to caress her other breast, his palm closing over her in a wave of delicious warmth and kneading gently. Rey sighs, closing her eyes and relaxing into him, eyes closing in contentment. He runs his thumb lightly over her nipple and it pebbles obligingly under his touch, making his cock twitch hungrily against her hip.

“I honestly can’t believe you keep falling for my lines,” Ben comments quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from what his hand is doing, from what she’s _letting_ him do.

“They’re _terrible_ lines. But I’m not falling for your lines, I’m falling for _you_. There’s a difference,” she corrects him in an absent tone.

Ben tips his head up, considering her shyly. “You are?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She turns her head and presses a light, grazing kiss to his temple. “I think you should go back and double-check the first one, again. Just to be safe, you know.”

“Actually…I have some concerns about this leg, here. I really think I should check that out, too.” Ben reaches down to curl his fingers around the back of her knee, tugging it up and over until she’s on her side, her hips aligned with his. He slides his palm up the back of her thigh in a slow, firm stroke that pushes her skirt up to her waist, baring her legs completely. Goosebumps spread across her skin in the chilly morning air.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Rey says breathlessly, her hips canting into his touch. His hand is wrapped firmly around the very top of her thigh, lightly massaging the sensitive skin between her legs. “But…” a look of doubt crosses her face and Ben stops moving immediately. 

She glances up at him, a little shy. “I didn’t tell you to _stop_ , Ben,” she whispers, admonishing.

He swallows nervously. “I just…” he closes his eyes, nuzzling her cheek with the tip of his nose. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to do. You looked—scared. Just now.”

“I _am_ scared,” she laughs shakily. “You scare the shit out of me.”

“Why?” Ben asks, puzzled and slightly hurt. He pulls away—just a little—and runs his fingers along her leg from ankle, to knee, to hip, and back again.

“Because I’ve never… _connected_ like this, before,” she whispers, her eyes misting over. “Being with you is so easy. It’s so _simple_. Nothing about people has _ever_ been easy for me, but then you show up, and…” she laughs helplessly, turning onto her back and running her hands through her hair. “Do you realize we’ve only been talking for a couple of _weeks?_

“Has it really only been that long?” Ben frowns, counting backward in his head. “No. It can’t be. It feels…” he blows a breath out, beginning to understand. “It feels like I’ve known you my whole life. Okay, yeah. That _is_ a little terrifying.”

Rey gazes at him. “The bottom has dropped out of every single relationship in my life. My parents. All my foster parents. My uncle. Every single boyfriend. And it sucked, but…I always managed to pick up and move on.” Her lips tremble. Ben stops touching her and just watches, listening quietly.

“But…if the bottom drops out of _this_ ,” she goes on, gesturing between the two of them. “I don’t think I’ll be able to just move on.”

“Maybe that’s a sign that this is different?” He suggests, dropping his eyes, picking restlessly at a button on her dress. “That…this will last?”

Rey huffs skeptically, swiping the tears out of her eyes irritably. “The bottom _always_ drops out,” she says bitterly. “ _Nothing_ lasts.”

Ben’s gut clenches into a hard knot of fear. “What are you saying?” He asks, voice rising. “That you just want to _give up?_ That you don’t even want to _try?_ ”

“No, it’s—it’s—”

“It’s _what_ , Rey?” He says loudly, his hand clenching into a fist.

Rey presses her lips together, glaring at him, silent and unwavering.

Ben takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He scrubs his hands down his face, wrestling with the sheer terror her words had so quickly stoked in him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into his palms. “I’m sorry for yelling. It’s just—okay, everybody in _your_ life has left you,” he explains. “Well, everybody in _my_ life has given up on me. My parents. My high school friends. My teachers, my mentors. They didn’t leave, they just…rejected me. Everybody wanted me to be someone I’m not.” He grinds the tears out of his eyes with the heels of his palms, then drops his hands and turns to look at her. She’s watching him, considering his words carefully. 

“You are the _first person_ that’s ever just…accepted me, and taken me as I am, no questions asked, no strings, no expectations.” He swallows, his throat so tight it’s nearly choking him. “You make me _come alive_. And now, here you are, and it sounds like you’re saying that you just want to give up before you even give us a chance. You’re _scaring_ me.”

“That’s fair,” Rey admits softly.

They watch each other warily for a few minutes, then Ben sighs heavily.

“Look. What can I do to prove that I’m serious about making this work?” He asks her bluntly.

Rey chews on the inside of her cheek. Her gaze drifts over his face, taking him in, making him feel sickeningly naked and exposed.

“Take me to meet your parents,” she says finally.

Ben’s jaw hardens and his lips work against each other in anxiety. Then, he reaches behind his back, feeling around for his phone on the ground. He unlocks it, dials a number, and holds it to his ear.

“Hey, it’s me,” Ben says. “Sorry, I know it’s early. …Yeah, I know, I figured you’d be up. Listen…” Ben turns to meet Rey’s eyes. “Are you guys doing anything today? There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

Rey swallows heavily, but she holds Ben’s gaze as he listens to the person on the other end.

“Yeah, fuck it, we’ll make a weekend of it. Yeah, sorry, _language,_ I know. We’ll head over in an hour or two. Okay. Yup. Love you.” He hangs up and drops his phone onto his chest.

“You’re meeting my parents today,” he informs her, tone hard. “We’re spending the weekend at the farm. You realize what you’re asking me to do?”

“I do.”

“I haven’t been in that house since I left for college.” He tips his head forward, his gaze sharpening. “Since the day my dad took a _sledgehammer_ to my piano at my own goddamn _graduation party_.”

Rey swallows, her mouth dry. “I know. You told me last night.”

“I never would’ve done this if you hadn’t asked me to,” his voice is firm, but there’s a shadow of betrayal hiding behind his eyes.

Hesitantly, she reaches for his hand, where it rests clenching against his thigh. She slides her fingers under his palm questioningly. She sighs with relief when he relaxes and laces their fingers together.

“Ben,” she begins slowly. “Your past is part of who you are. Don’t I deserve to know what I’m getting into?”

He chews the inside of his cheek, mouth working angrily. “I’d rather start over. Start fresh, and kill the past.”

“Good luck with that,” she laughs gently. “My past is who I am, too. It comes with me; it’s part of the package. There’s no getting around it.” Her eyes plead with him until he softens and sighs out the last of his anger.

“Well…go pack a bag, I guess,” he says reluctantly. “Are you gonna take a shower or anything first?”

“ _God_ , yes,” she groans, trying to run her fingers through her hair and failing. “My hair is a rat’s nest and my mouth tastes like an ashtray.”

“For the record, this day did _not_ go the way I thought,” he scowls.

“I know _my_ plans were certainly more pornographic in nature.”

Ben narrows his eyes at her. “Now I’m _really_ pissed at you.”

Rey squeezes his hand. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.” Ben massages his left temple for a minute, then sits up. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

 

**_Boyfriend, 8:02am:_ ** _hey I’m getting in the shower now, just come over when you’re ready_

**_Rey, 8:03am:_ ** _you haven’t showered, yet?? I’m already done!_

**_Boyfriend, 8:04am:_ ** _I was taking the stuff down from the rooftop, silly_

**_Rey, 8:04am:_ ** _why didn’t you ask me to help?_

**_Boyfriend, 8:15am:_ ** _because I’m a fucking gentleman, that’s why_

**_Boyfriend, 8:17:_ ** _just come over, we get to the parking garage from inside my building, anyway. third floor, 3C, key’s under the mat._

**_Rey, 8:17am:_ ** _10-4, good buddy_

 

 

Rey can hear the shower running when she steps into his apartment. She closes the door softly behind her and toes her shoes off next to the wall.

She’d always been curious about this building. It had been a warehouse before it was converted to living space, so the walls are brick, the ceilings are high, and the windows are enormous, almost taking up the whole living room wall. She pads quietly over to the battered black spinet against the wall, running her fingers over the keys curiously. His phone and keys rest on top. 

His phone goes off and Rey nearly jumps out of her skin.

 ** _Mom_** , the screen says.

Rey swallows.

“Hey Ben?” She calls down the hallway. He hollers a response.

“Your mom is calling,” she answers. “Do you want your phone?”

“Just answer it for me,” he calls back.

Rey gulps and answers the phone.

 

 

Ben is leaning his forehead against the shower wall, letting the scalding-hot water stream down over his face.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he thinks, knocking his head against the tile. _This is bad. This is gonna be so, so, fucking bad._

Anxiety churns in his gut, making him nauseated. All he can think about is the last day he spent at home. The day his father had hammered the final nail into the coffin of their relationship and sent him off to college, completely adrift, to face the most challenging part of his life utterly alone.

 _She’ll understand,_ Ben tries to convince himself. _She’ll meet them, she’ll see what it’s always been like, she’ll understand. She won’t run away. She won’t._

Ben lunges for the shower curtain and vomits neatly into the toilet. He knocks the bowl closed with a growl and plunges his head back under the water, rinsing off the last of the sick.

_She’s going to run away. I’m going to scare her and she’s going to run away, just like everyone else._

He shuts off the water and yanks a towel off the wall next to him.

From the living room, he hears Rey laugh. Confused, he cracks open the bathroom door and pricks up his ears.

“Oh God. _No_. I can kill _anything_. I’ve killed cacti, succulents, amaryllis, philodendrons—yeah, I _know_ philodendrons are supposed to be unkillable, that’s why it’s such bullshit that I managed to pull it off…no, I’m not going to keep trying. I’ve accepted that houseplants just aren’t in my purview…what? You’ve kept an orchid alive for fifteen years? Who do you think you are, _God?_ ”

Ben sneaks a look around the corner and sees Rey meandering around the living room with his phone on her shoulder, mindlessly dusting his bookshelves with a damp paper towel. He observes that she’s taken the liberty of putting on one of his sweatshirts.

“I mean, of _course_ I’d like to come see it the next time it blooms, I just need you to understand that it _will_ die when I enter the room. I’ll lay eyes on it and it’ll set itself on fire to escape, and not even a plant witch like you will save it…” Rey tips her head back, considering the shelves that are too tall for her to reach. She casts about for a minute, then she spots the step-stool in the corner. She pulls it over, climbs up, and goes on dusting. She looks like a little kid, with that giant sweatshirt hanging down almost to her knees.

“Well, you can ask _him_ about that. …Well, sure, but he’s a grown man, and if he doesn’t want to, then he won’t. …Ohhhh no, no, no, _I’m_ not about to twist his arm, because I can’t even _reach_ his stupid arms. So, really, it’s all _your_ fault for having such an obnoxiously large son, Leia.”

Ben’s head rocks back. Growing up, Mom never let a single one of his friends call her by her first name. _First names are for family,_ she’d say, _And I need to command these little shits’ respect._ And here was Rey, on a first-name basis in less than five minutes flat.

“Oh!” Rey exclaims, catching Ben’s eye as he sneaks out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. “He’s out of the shower. I’m handing the phone over. See you soon.”

She hands him the phone, her cheeks flushed and eyes dancing away from his body, and walks back over to the piano, seating herself at the bench and letting her fingers ghost over the keys gently.

“Hi, Mom,” he says, feeling like the world had somehow slid off its axis.

“ _Keep. Her._ ” Leia’s voice is forceful and stern. “What a _lovely_ girl. I assume this is the ‘someone’ you’d like us to meet?”

Ben swallows heavily, his eyes still resting on the back of Rey’s head, her shower-damp hair slung in a loose bun on the top of her head. All of his anger, all of his fear, is draining away,  and all he can manage to say is a quiet _Yup._

“Well, I had a slew of questions I was going to ask…I was a little too dumbstruck to think of them when you called this morning…but I think I understand now. We’ll see you two soon. Drive safe.”

“I will.” He hangs up the phone, tucks the towel more securely around his waist, and carefully approaches Rey.

 

 

Rey is idly tapping her fingertips from key to key when she feels Ben lean over her, his arms going around her and his hands coming to rest on top of hers.

His skin is soft and damp and he smells like soap; wet tendrils of his hair tickle the side of her neck and make her shiver.

“C-major,” he murmurs, kissing the soft round of her shoulder as his hands press the keys.

“G-major.” His hands move again, and he presses a second kiss to the tender nape of her neck.

“A-minor, E-minor, F-major—” His hands glide almost lazily through the progression as he dots three more kisses to the column of her throat.

“F-major, C-major—”

“Is there a shirt or something you could put on?” She gasps desperately, shivers wracking her spine almost unbearably. She presses her knees together, her hands wringing in her lap.

He ignores her. “F-major. G-major.” He finishes softly. “ _Rey._ Look at me, sweetheart.”

“I’d rather not, to be honest,” she whispers to her lap.

“Well, fine then,” he laughs softly, then presses a single chaste kiss her lips, the touch of his mouth careful and delicate as an apple blossom.

Rey’s eyes ease open as he leans back to see how she’s taken it. His Adam’s apple bobs slowly, down, up, then back down as he swallows.

Rey clears her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispers roughly. “I don’t think I heard you. Can you say that again?”

The corners of his mouth tuck down in that secret smile of his, and he leans in again. This kiss is firm, like a statement carefully enunciated. She can feel his fingertips tremble slightly as they graze the side of her neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers, but keeps his eyes cast down. He chews his lip anxiously, lashes stuttering against his cheeks as he blinks quickly. The sight is so vulnerable—so _endearing_ —that she can’t help but tease him a little.

“Look,” she says with a quiet authority. “You’re really going to have to _speak up_ , I don’t have all d—”

Finally, he kisses her like he _means_ it. His lips seal over hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth to taste her. It’s bone-burning, mercilessly wringing the air out of her body, and all she can do is melt into his touch, following his lead. His hands wrap around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, giving no quarter. She sucks his lip between her teeth and _bites_ just hard enough to make him gasp, and she smiles wickedly into his mouth.  

It’s the kind of kiss she’d heard about, listening with skepticism, never believing it to be true—or at least, never true for her.

Rey comes up for air first. She buries her nose into the soft skin of his neck and inhales deeply. His hands are still clasping the base of her skull, firm and desperate.

“I don’t know what kind of dark witchcraft you’ve worked on my mother…” he rumbles against her earlobe, “…but keep it up. It’s working.” His tongue flicks teasingly at the tender place beneath her ear, making her shudder. “Are you ready to go?”

Rey laughs, stretching her arms around his shoulders. “What, are you just gonna go in a towel?”

“ _You_ don’t seem to mind.”

She plucks playfully at the cloth around his hips, running the backs of her fingers along the tender skin there, satisfied to see the gooseflesh rippling out across his skin in response.

“ _I_ don’t. Your mother might…”

“We don’t _have_ to go…” his lips are already trailing hungrily along her jaw.

“Get _dressed_ , Ben,” Rey scolds, and slaps his ass. 


	7. ochi tchornya

**_Rey, 9:02am:_ ** _hey I’m going on a jaunt in the farmland for the next couple days so don’t panic if I don’t respond to your texts_

**_Rey, 9:03am:_ ** _or do. I mean, you do you_

**_Rose, 9:03am:_ ** _REY_

**_Rose, 9:03am:_ ** _YOU’RE ALIVE_

**_Rey, 9:04am:_ ** _eh?_

**_Rey, 9:04am:_ ** _wat?_

**_Rey, 9:04am:_ ** _I feel like you’re panicking early?_

**_Rose, 9:05am:_ ** _you haven’t answered A SINGLE TEXT in the last 18 HOURS I was about to come break down your door!!!_

**_Rose, 9:06am:_ ** _you bounce out of work early yesterday, all “ima just go meet this random dude AT MY APARTMENT, peace out” and then leave me with COMPLETE FUCKING RADIO SILENCE for 18 FUCKING HOURS_

**_Rey, 9:06am:_ ** _ohhhhhh_

**_Rey, 9:07am:_ ** _oh._

**_Rey, 9:07am:_ ** _oh, I am an asshole._

**_Rose, 9:08am:_ ** _yes. you are an asshole._

**_Rose, 9:08am:_ ** _and what do you mean “a jaunt in the farmland”?_

**_Rey, 9:09am:_ ** _nothing. nevermind_

**_Rose, 9:10am:_ ** _EXPLAIN_

**_Rey, 9:11am:_ ** _well I don’t want to tell you NOW_

**_Rose, 9:12am:_ ** _tell me it’s not what I’m thinking_

**_Rey, 9:13am:_ ** _errm_

**_Rey, 9:13am:_ ** _that depends on what you’re thinking?_

**_Rose, 9:14am:_ ** _I’m thinking this dude is luring you to a deserted area so he can fucking rape and kill you rey THAT IS WHAT I AM THINKING FFFRRKKKKTTTTPPTTT%*^%^%!!_

**_Rey, 9:15am:_ ** _please. if anybody does any “luring” it’s gonna be me_

**_Rey, 9:16am:_ ** _in fact I think that sounds like a grand idea_

**_Rey, 9:15am:_ ** _ima lure that fine-ass man into the fertile forests of America’s heartland and bone him silly_

**_Rey, 9:16am:_ ** _after I meet his mother, of course_

**_Rose, 9:17am:_ ** _…_

**_Rose, 9:18am:_ ** _…_

**_Rey, 9:20am:_ ** _well spit it out already, Tico._

**_Rose, 9:20am:_ ** _I’m sorry but what the actual fuck is going on_

**_Rose, 9:21am:_ ** _did I get sucked into another dimension?_

**_Rose, 9:21am:_ ** _is this real life? where is the nice, crotchety, sensible Rey I know??_

**_Rey, 9:22am:_ ** _on her way to meet the family of the man who just might be the love of her life?_

**_Rose, 9:23am:_ ** _WHAT_

 

 

**_Armitage, 9:32am:_ ** _Gwen and I are making stuffed shells tonight if you would care to join us._

**_Ben, 9:33am:_ ** _I’m actually spending the weekend at my parents’ with Rey. maybe next time?_

**_Armitage, 9:34am:_ ** _WHAT_

**_Gwen, 9:35am:_ ** _WHAT_

**_Ben, 9:36am:_ ** _Gwen?? you’re on this thread?_

**_Armitage,9:37am:_ ** _I showed her your text and she demanded to be included_

**_Armitage, 9:38am:_ ** _which brings us back to my point: what the fuck, Benjamin._

**_Ben, 9:39am:_ ** _but aren’t you both at home right now?_

**_Gwen, 9:40am:_ ** _yes, we’re on the couch. why?_

**_Ben, 9:41am:_ ** _you’re texting each other from different ends of the couch?_

**_Armitage, 9:41am:_ ** _yes, why?_

**_Ben, 9:42am:_ ** _never mind._

**_Gwen, 9:43am:_ ** _so I take it you two got along swimmingly, then? really hit it off, did you?_

**_Armitage, 9:44am:_ ** _ugh, you should see her face right now. she’s like the cat that caught the canary._

**_Gwen, 9:45am:_ ** _I’m just saying I’m God’s gift to matchmaking. that’s all._

**_Ben, 9:45am:_ ** _but you didn’t do anything…_

**_Gwen, 9:46am:_ ** _details. the point is, I was RIGHT, and that’s the important thing_

**_Ben, 9:46am:_ ** _fair enough_

**_Armitage, 9:39am:_ ** _let’s once again bring this conversation round to my initial point: what the fuck, Benjamin._

**_Ben, 9:40am:_ ** _what??_

**_Armitage, 9:41am:_ ** _this is your idea of a courtship, hm?_

**_Armitage, 9:42am:_ ** _one night of rooftop romancing and then wham, you just toss her into your quagmire of personal trauma?_

**_Gwen, 9:42am:_ ** _oh, DO shut up, darling._

**_Gwen, 9:43am:_ ** _though I have to agree that this all seems to be moving a bit fast?_

**_Ben, 9:44am:_ ** _look, if I’d had MY way, we would’ve been on our third kid before I let her near my parents._

**_Ben, 9:45am:_ ** _but SHE insisted, so here we are._

**_Ben, 9:46am:_ ** _in fact she already seems to be besties with mom_

**_Armitage, 9:47am:_ ** _YOUR mother?_

**_Armitage, 9:48am:_ ** _no. you must be thinking of someone else’s mother._

**_Ben, 9:49am:_ ** _I’m serious. they were talking over the phone and she had mom eating out of her hand in two minutes_

**_Ben, 9:50am:_ ** _it was a little frightening, tbh_

**_Gwen, 9:51am:_ ** _worried she’s going to have you whipped, next?_

**_Ben, 9:52am:_ ** _worried that I’m going to LIKE being whipped next_

**_Armitage, 9:54am:_ ** _oh for God’s sake_

**_Gwen, 9:55am:_ ** _shhhhh, Armie, just let him have this <3_

 

 

They sail down the highway, where tilled fields and cow pastures unfurl around them like a patchwork quilt sewn in shades of green and brown, crossed here and there with stands of budding trees that doze under an achingly blue sky.

Rey is stretched out across the deep bench seat of Ben’s truck with her head in his lap. He’s using her ribcage as an armrest, his fingers restlessly picking at the hem of her sleeve. The radio plays softly underneath the wind whistling through the open windows, some radio station that plays jazz standards from the 30s and 40s. Rey thinks she hears she can pick out the sly, soulful crooning of _Otchi Tchornya_ curling out of the speakers. 

They don’t talk much. Ben’s anxiety is rolling off him in waves, and Rey senses that he needs time and space to prepare himself for the confrontation ahead.

Rey sits up to look out the window as they pull off the highway. They disappear into a maze of back roads, the woods and fields of each one seemingly indiscernible from the next. Rey, normally excellent with direction, is hopelessly lost within ten minutes.

“Are we actually going to your parents’, or are you looking for a place to dump my body?”

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B…”

“Shit. Rose was right.”

“What?”

“What?”

They pull down a long, overgrown gravel drive lined with enormous oak trees. Rey rolls her window down so she can stick her head out of the truck and look at the huge, gnarled branches as they pass beneath. On the other side of the tree line, Rey sees rolling fields of tall, fallow grass.

“Where are we?” She asks quietly. “I feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”

“Welcome to Naberrie Farm,” Ben replies, a little wistful.

“It’s beautiful,” Rey comments softly, letting her fingertips trail over the tall grass next to the drive.

“You might not want to do that,” Ben points out. “It’s a bad spring for ticks.” Rey rapidly withdraws her hand into the car.

Ben finally pulls up and kills the engine beneath the sprawling arms of an enormous maple tree, its limbs flushed pink with millions of swelling buds. He looks up the hill at the big white farmhouse, its deep, wrap-around porch deceptively inviting in the golden sunlight slanting through the young spring leaves.

Rey’s face is practically glowing, her eyes drinking up the view like a tall glass of cool water. He imagines that, to her, this place must look like an Eden. He aches to feel the same.

“ _This_ is where you grew up?” She asks, eyes round.

“Yeah,” he sighs grimly.

“Hey,” Rey murmurs, trailing the backs of her fingers along the underside of his jaw in an unspoken question. The gesture soothes him enough that he can pry his hands off the steering wheel and turn to meet her eyes.

Ben chews the inside of his cheek. “So I did some thinking, on the way here…”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Rey grins with dry affection.

“…And I think the thing that scares me the most is letting you see the person I become around them.” He looks at her, eyes pleading. “Promise me you won’t let me scare you away.”

“Promise _me_ you won’t give in to your fear.”

“I’ll try.”

“No,” Rey says sternly. “You _won’t_.”

Ben’s mouth twists as he chews on his words. “Fine,” he says darkly. “I won’t.”

“Atta boy.” Rey squeezes his hand. “C’mon,” she says more gently. “It probably won’t be as bad as you think.”

He looks at her flatly. “And if it is?”

“We’ll just leave. Easy-peasy.”

“Oh, right. Yup. Easy-peasy.” His voice is dull with sarcasm as he finally cracks open his door.

It’s at least a hundred feet from the end of the drive up to the front porch. Rey and Ben walk it hand in hand, Ben dragging his feet like a man on the way to the gallows. His heart jumps at the familiar screech of the old screen door as it’s pushed open, and he looks up to see his mother, in jeans and flannel and old, fuzzy slippers, grinning like an idiot in the door frame.

He bites his lip, feeling sick as they walk up the creaking wooden stairs of the porch.

“Hi, Mom,” he says, sounding like someone is twisting his arm until he says _uncle_. “I’m sorry we’re—"

Leia springs across the remaining distance between them and wraps her arms around his middle in a bone-crushing hug.

“My _boy_ ,” she’s laughing into the lapel of his jacket. “My _boy!_ ” She sways him from side to side, unable to contain herself. Her eyes are wet. “You’re _home_. You’re finally _home!_ ”

Ben clears his throat, blinking rapidly against the sudden moisture in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leaning his chin on the top of her gray head. “Yeah. I am.”

He glances over to share a look of amazement with Rey. Her eyes are a little misty, and she’s giving him a smug, _I-told-you-so_ smile.

Leia finally steps back and puts her hands up onto his shoulders, her lips pressing together in a proud-mom smile. “And it looks like you got even taller in college!”

“Ridiculous, right?” Rey laughs. “ _Nobody_ needs to be that big.”

“… _And you must be Rey!_ ” Leia swings to the side and catches Rey in her arms, giving her an affectionate, lung-compressing squeeze. “You’re in for a treat today. I’ve decided to repot the orchid today. Come in, come in!” She waves for them to follow her through the door.

They step into the small entryway at the base of the stairs, where an array of tatty flannel shirts hang from pegs on the wall, a line of muddy boots stacked neatly underneath. A short hallway on the left leads into a large, sunny kitchen, where the orchid and a bag of potting soil rest on a worn farmhouse table. The door on their right looks into a snug parlor, where the open windows are hung with airy white curtains that sway in a breeze carrying the heavy scent of blossoming lilacs outside.

Rey is following Leia into the golden light of the kitchen and the women are already chatting away like they’ve known each other their whole lives.

“Now, Rey, this is a _miltonia_ , so we’ll need to moisten the potting mix before we use it—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to save a step and just have me set it on fire now?”

“Oh, hush. You’ll be fine. Now bring me your young eyes…”

The girls’ voices fade as Ben feels himself drawn into the parlor, his steps slow and heavy, the memory of his last night in this room welling up unstoppably into his mind.

 

 

_“C’mon, Ben,” Dopheld eggs him on, holding out the lit zippo lighter temptingly. The other kids in the circle are crowding close to watch what Ben will do._

_Ben gazes at the Falcon, his mind distant as he watches the gasoline spread and pool over the pristine white hood of the vintage car. He thinks of all those afternoons Dad spent perfecting the engine, the interior, the trim, and not a minute spent with Ben, as he struggled to cope with schoolyard bullies and antagonistic teachers and the unreasonable demands of his music mentor._

_“Yeah, alright,” he finally concedes, taking the lighter from Dopheld’s hand as the circle of teenagers hoot and yell in excitement. With one last, solemn look, Ben tosses the lighter onto the car, and the chassis whooshes into flame. His heart sits like a stone in his chest, cold and still as he watches the fire devour the dash and interior. The tires hiss dangerously as heat builds up in the wheel wells._

_Ben feels nothing. He feels as cold and alone as he always has, regardless of the laughing, chanting crowd of classmates around him._

_“BEN!” His father shouts from the porch. His friends scatter, deserting him. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?”_

_Ben freezes, unable to answer or defend himself. As if there were a defense for the act of meaningless destruction he’s just committed._

_And yet, he feels no remorse. For all the hundreds of times his father had left him to fend for himself, had failed to protect him from pressures outside of his control, this felt like a just response._

_“What the FUCK does it look like I’m doing, old man?” Ben shrugs snottily. He has no explanation, other than the roiling anger and loneliness inside, that he’s never been able to parse or articulate._

_Han realizes right away that the car is too far gone to save. Instead, he seizes Ben’s collar, hauling him by the neck back to the house._

_“Is this funny to you?” Dad demands. Ben stumbles behind him, unable to keep up the pace with the long, gangly legs he hasn’t yet learned how to use, and Dad just drags him along the ground by the scruff. Han picks up the sledgehammer next to the chicken coop and Ben panics and flails, thinking his father might finally be angry enough to brain him with it._

_They crash through the porch and into the house, the screen door banging behind them. Ben’s friends are nowhere to be seen, no doubt booking it over the fields and through the woods, back to their own homes or whatever holes they had to hide in._

_Han drags Ben into the parlor, ignoring the angry protests of Leia in the kitchen, and roughly shoves him onto the couch._

_“You think it’s FUN to destroy things that don’t belong to you?” Han demands, hauling up the sledge hammer in his hands. “Well watch this. See how FUN this seems to you.” And he brings the hammer down onto the keyboard of the Ben’s upright piano. When Ben doesn’t respond, Han smashes it down again and again, until the piano is nothing but a busted heap of debris on the creaking floorboards._

_Ben says nothing._

_“Well?” Says Han, pain and despair plain in his face. “What do you think, Ben?”_

_Ben slowly gets to his feet, brushing off the mud and grass-stains swiped across his legs and elbows, and brings his fist down hard on his father’s face._

_Han—raw-boned old farmer that he may be—is no match for his young, hot-blooded son, who has at least four inches of height and reach on him. He loses consciousness after the second hit, and lays senseless on the floor as Ben smashes his face again and again._

_Vaguely, Ben can hear his mother shouting in the background. Can feel her hands tugging at his shoulders, pulling him away._

_“You get OUT of this house!” Leia shouts, shoving him hard toward the door._

_He gets out of the house._

_He doesn’t speak with them again until after his college graduation._

 

 

“Hi, Ben.” His father’s voice startles him out of his reverie. Han is standing in the doorway at the back of the parlor, his mouth set in a firm line.

“Hi, Dad,” Ben says slowly, then raises his finger to point at the piano sitting against the wall to his left. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” Han rumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, Ben. That’s your piano.”

“But…but I thought…”

“Your mother saved every piece. And…well. After a month or so, I started working on putting it back together again.”

Ben approaches the instrument slowly. When he gets closer, he can see the painstakingly-repaired cracks in the wood, the wider gaps that have been filled with wood putty or a reddish-colored epoxy. Cautiously, Han comes to stand next to him, running his worn fingers over the fallboard with familiar affection, as though he’s repeated the gesture a thousand times.

“But what about the soundboard?” Ben asks, weakly. “The hammers and strings? It was all…” Ben swallows the painful lump in his throat.

“Hired a specialist to rebuild it. It’s basically a brand new instrument. It took a couple years, but it’s been done for a while, now.”

“Why?” Ben finally turns to face his father, his face young and twisted with hurt. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Han ducks his head in shame, chewing the inside of his cheek. He raises his eyes to his son’s face and considers him from underneath his thick, hoary brows. “Would it have mattered?”

“Yes,” Ben says in a hard voice. “Yes, it would’ve _mattered_.”

A sudden laughing shriek breaks the tension between them. Something has happened in the kitchen, apparently. Ben turns to the sound, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a little.

Han clears his throat. “Mom said you brought a girl?”

They walk together into the kitchen to find Rey wheezing next to the kitchen sink, her face dripping with water. Leia is leaning against the counter holding her sides, laughing helplessly. The men share an identical look of pure confusion.

“We’ve had an equipment malfunction,” Rey tries to explain, then dissolves into giggles again. The orchid is sitting next to her on the table, looking somehow disapproving of the whole business.

“Leia…?” Han asks weakly. She just flaps a hand at him.

“Don’t ask questions, dear,” she says, wiping her eyes. “We’re enjoying ourselves. Now go away.”

“Yeah, Ben, _go away_ , we’re having _girl-time_ ,” Rey snickers as she wipes her face with a kitchen towel. But she walks over to him anyway and nuzzles her head against his arm fondly.

Ben feels the tension draining out of him as he looks down at her face, radiant with contentment. He brushes a damp strand of hair behind her ear gently.

“Rey. This is my dad.”

Rey lifts her head, smiling brightly and taking Han’s proffered hand in a firm grip.

“Wow, I can really see the resemblance,” Rey comments thoughtfully, vaguely gesturing at Han’s mouth and brows. “I was _wondering_ where he got his permanent, cantankerous scowl from.”

Leia snorts behind her and the girls are off in another fit of giggles. Han and Ben frown at the same time, and their expressions are _so identical_ that the girls laugh even harder, Leia sinking weakly down into one of the kitchen chairs.

Han’s mouth twists wryly as he looks over to Ben. “Well, it’s obvious we aren’t wanted here.”

“Didn’t you say you needed help fixing the chicken coop?” Ben asks with a shrug. Han nods and the men pass through the kitchen and out to the back porch, the screen door banging closed behind them. Ben’s feet haven’t even left the bottom stair before the girls are chattering away again behind him.

 

 

“Get me the hammer, would you?” Ben calls down from the roof of the coop. Han tosses it up and Ben catches it easily, stooping to tack down the last of the broken panels. As he stands back up, stretching out the kinks in his lower back, he sees Rey chatting with his mother up in the side garden under the dogwood trees, apparently picking flowers.

Her pony tail has come loose and is hanging, askew, halfway down her neck. Her feet are bare and already filthy. She’s holding a wicker basket while Leia fills it with the last of the spring tulips and daffodils. She’s smiling and talking animatedly.

Where is the Rey he knows? The girl who hates chatting with cashiers and adamantly refuses to get involved in her coworkers’ personal lives?

She’s nowhere to be seen. In her place is a girl who takes a perfect, white narcissus out of his mother’s hand and tucks it behind her ear, eyes glowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ "Ochi Tchornya" by Gunhild Carling and her Jazz Band ](https://youtu.be/S1oeZVEVySw)


	8. standards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, folks. We DIYed the kitchen...then the kids got strep...then the dishwasher started leaking...then I got strep...yeah. Anyhoo, hope this one's worth the wait.

Rey knows when she’s being mined for information, and Leia is about as subtle as a pickaxe.

_Does Ben like the new business location? He never wanted to move, you know._

_Is he getting enough exercise? He goes a little nutty without exercise, you know._

_Is he still cooking at home, or does he order take-out like all those other idiots in the city? He was always such a good cook, you know. It would be such a shame._

_Oh, and how long have you two been together, again?_

“Since yesterday,” Rey grins mischievously through a mouthful of fresh-baked bread.

Leia starts and looks at her round-eyed, fingers frozen around a handful of narcissus. They’re sitting on the back porch drinking iced tea and arranging the flowers they’ve picked into a few blue-tinted Mason jars.

“Did you say _yesterday?_ ”

Rey nods, delicately tucking a daffodil into her arrangement. “Yup. So you’d probably be better off asking him all these questions _yourself_.” Rey leans in, raising her brows meaningfully. Leia huffs and frowns down at the jar in her hands.

“I know,” Leia admits quietly. She sighs and leans back in her rocker, dark eyes distant, a gentle breeze toying with the strands of iron-gray hair that have fallen loose around her face. “We weren’t good at talking even when he was young, and now…now, he’s even more of a stranger to me than before.”

Rey nods, her features gentle as she observes the regret pooling in Leia’s eyes. “You know a great way to get to know someone?” She inquires.

Leia’s mouth twists wryly. “Oh?” Leia wipes her eyes, annoyed. “What’s that?”

“No clue,” Rey shrugs, popping another wad of bread into her mouth. “I’m terrible with people, I was hoping you could give me some tips.”

Leia barks a laugh and dips her fingers into the vase water, flicking it at Rey playfully.

“ _Rude_ ,” Rey laughs, wiping the droplets off her nose and cheeks. “Al _though_ …hypo _thetically_ …I would _guess_ …that maybe _talking_ to someone might help bridge that gap.” Rey swallows her bite. “Instead of interrogating them by proxy via their significant other.”

Leia scowls down at the vase in her hands and fidgets with the flowers a little. “Yeah, I know,” she grumbles. She rises from her seat, gathers a few of the vases into her arms, and heads for the back door to the kitchen.

“ _Rey!_ ”

Who the _hell_ is hollering at—oh, it’s Ben. He’s waving her over from the top of the chicken coop, the hammer in his hand. Rey is about to wave him off and follow his mom into the kitchen, but she can see the sweat soaking through his t-shirt, and the dirty smudge on his forehead where he’s rubbed the back of his hand through the dust getting kicked up from the driveway.

He looks thirsty.

“ _Rey!_ ” He calls again, waving her over with more urgency. She holds up a finger and darts inside to pull a couple cans of beer out of the fridge. Then she walks quickly over to the chicken coop next to the barn, tosses a beer to Han (who swipes it out of the air with an appreciative nod), and leans up on tip-toe to pass the other can to Ben over the low eave of the roof.

“Here. Now what do you want?” Rey asks crossly. “I’m busy working my witchcraft on your mother. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Can you throw some of that witchcraft _my_ way?” Han asks wryly and takes a swig.

“I just did,” Rey points out, nodding to the beer in his hand. She looks back up to Ben, raising a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “Now what do you want? I’m busy.”

Ben looks at the beer in his hand with a strange expression. “Actually, I was going to ask you to grab me a beer.” He quirks a little grin, which Rey returns. Then his face falls. “Listen, I’m sorry if it feels like a clusterfuck around here—”

“Language!” His mom yells through the screen door. Christ, the woman’s got ears like a _bat_ if she can— _oh hoooo; listening in, are we, Mrs. Solo?_

“Maybe if you weren’t eavesdropping, you wouldn’t hear shit you don’t like!” Rey calls over her shoulder. Ben’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but Leia laughs at her cheek.

“Cram it, Rey!” Leia yells back, shaking a pair of tongs threateningly out the kitchen window. “It’s not my fault if the boy’s voice _carries!_ ”

“Oh, so _that’s_ how you’re gonna play it? Okay. I respect that.” Rey puts her hand back up against the sun glaring down from behind Ben’s head. “Do you need me for anything else? Your mom was about to show me how to mix up a sourdough starter.”

Ben plants his fists in his lower back and stretches. Rey takes the opportunity to let her eyes wander over his sweaty t-shirt as it clings to his chest and biceps.

“I guess not,” Ben says, sounding surprised. “If you’re doing okay, me and Dad were going to clean out the horse stalls. Might take a while.”

“In that case,” Rey smiles, “Shake a leg, farmboy.”

 

 

 

“So. You haven’t _completely_ forgotten how to work in a barn,” Han comments, hobbling behind Ben with a stall pick in his hand. After an hour or so of work, he had needed to go inside for his cane. He leans on it heavily as Ben shovels sawdust into a wheelbarrow.

“It isn’t exactly rocket science,” Ben scoffs, pausing to chuff a sprinkling of dust out of his mouth.

“Didn’t seem to take to it much when you were younger.”

“Yeah, well, a farm isn’t exactly the best place for a kid with allergies,” Ben scowls. The wheelbarrow is heaped full, so he tosses the shovel on top of the pile and wraps his hands around the handles, maneuvering it into the main breezeway of the barn.

“Well, they don’t seem to be bothering you _now_.”

“Because I take allergy medication. Like a grown-up. You gonna pull Nell out of her stall, or just stand around giving me shit all day?”

Han _hmmphs_ through his nose and snags a halter off the wall.

“You do it,” Han grumbles, tossing him the old rope, worn by many years’ handling. “I, uh—I can’t really get around so well in the stalls. Any more.” Han gestures with his cane, irritated.

Ben tugs the halter out of his hand. Gently. Carefully.

It strikes him all at once that his father isn’t the man he remembers from his childhood, the man who seemed impossibly strong and larger than life. It’s hard for him, in that moment, to accept his father’s fragility. Han had always seemed like an unbreakable wall, something to be battered with fists and grappled upon; now, he’s just a man, and an old, tired one at that.

Ben slips the halter over old Nell’s head, and even after all these years, the movement is still easy, as simple as the muscle memory of playing an old, familiar song. She follows him calmly out into the barn, bumping his shoulder affectionately with her velvety nose as he latches her safely to the wall. He scratches behind her ears absently, then sets to work picking her stall.

The stall is filthy and the labor is harder than it ought to be. Ben feels a sting of guilt, remembering the many times his mother had intreated him for help. Family feud or not, it isn’t fair to the animals to be up to their hocks in manure. He makes a note to come back at least a couple times a month to make sure they get the care they need.

Oddly enough, the thought doesn’t seem all that unpleasant; Mom and Rey are getting along so famously, he suspects Rey will be bugging him to come back for regular visits, anyway.

“So, ahh…” Han scratches the back of his neck. “When’s the wedding?”

“Wedding?” Ben asks, distracted, swiping his forearm across his brow.

“Yeah, dummy. You need a ring? You’ve got your pick of the family heirlooms.”

“What?” Ben squints, confused. He pauses to lean his hands and chin on the stall pick handle.

“You know.” Han shrugs toward the house out front. “For your girl.”

Ben leans an elbow on the stall door, brow furrowed in confusion...and, maybe, a little embarrassment at his own transparency.

He _may_ have thought about asking for Grandma’s ring, but only casually. In passing. Not _seriously_. At all. That would be ridiculous. Right? _Yes_. Ridiculous.

“I mean, we only got together yesterday,” Ben finally laughs, returning to his work.

“What?!” Han sits heavily on one of the tack boxes. “You brought her home after a _day?_ ”

“She asked,” Ben shrugs, leaning the pick against the barn wall and turning to grab the other wheelbarrow, wheeling it easily up the aisle and out to the manure pile out back. When he returns to dump fresh sawdust in Nell’s stall, Han is still staring at the wall, completely dumbfounded.

“What?” Ben asks, grinning at Han’s expression.

“My offer stands,” Han finally responds, nodding to himself darkly. “Put a ring on her. Seal the deal before she knows better.”

  

 

**_Boyfriend, 2:48 pm:_ ** _where are you??_

**_Rey, 2:53 pm:_ ** _I’m in the woods_

**_Rey, 2:55 pm:_ ** _gathering an arsenal of pinecones_

**_Boyfriend, 2:55 pm:_ ** _oh god. well, have fun with that_

**_Rey, 2:56 pm:_ ** _you should come find me_

**_Rey, 2:56pm:_ ** _that is, unless you’re…CHICKEN_

**_Boyfriend, 2:56 pm:_ ** _I will not be drawn into this childish game_

**_Boyfriend, 2:57pm:_ ** _and anyway we both know I would fucking own you_

**_Rey, 2:58 pm:_ ** _BRING IT BITCH_

Ben sends her an image file. It’s him and his dad, standing in front of a donkey tethered in his stall. Ben has a sprinkling of sawdust in his hair and on his shoulders.

**_Rey, 3:02pm:_ ** _aww. you guys have the same pained smile <3_

**_Boyfriend, 3:03pm:_ ** _take a closer look_

**_Boyfriend, 3:03pm:_ ** _chester the donkey says he’d love to meat(sic) you_

Rey squints at the picture and realizes the donkey has a _massive_ hard-on, his enormous, unsettlingly-pink donkey-dick trailing almost to the ground.

**_Rey, 3:07pm_ ** _: jesus christ, did you take turns jerking that thing off??_

**_Boyfriend, 3:09pm:_ ** _how dare you kink-shame me in my own barn_

**_Rey, 3:10pm:_ ** _I mean, to each his own, but tell me you at least lubed him up first_

**_Boyfriend, 3:12pm:_ ** _of course I used lube, what do I look like, an amateur?_

**_Rey, 3:13pm:_ ** _I mean…_

****

****

****

**_Ben, 4:01pm:_ ** _so you’ve been gone a while…_

**_Demanding Girlfriend, 4:05pm:_ ** _yyyyeah, about that…_

**_Demanding Girlfriend, 4:05pm:_ ** _I am SO fucking lost right now_

**_Ben, 4:06pm:_ ** _well you’ve got signal so you can’t be THAT lost_

**_Ben, 4:07pm:_ ** _mom wants me to come get you anyway, dinner’s at 5_

**_Ben, 4:08pm:_ ** _describe where you are and I can probably find you_

**_Demanding Girlfriend, 4:10pm:_ ** _“probably”??_

**_Ben, 4:11pm:_ ** _well, yeah, I mean, it’s a lot of acreage to cover_

**_Ben, 4:11pm:_ ** _and I would definitely call it quits come nightfall_

**_Demanding Girlfriend, 4:13pm:_ ** _ben…_

**_Ben, 4:12pm:_ ** _you don’t expect me to stay out after dark, do you? there are BEARS out here_

**_Demanding Girlfriend, 4:13pm:_ ** _very funny, Benjamin_

**_Ben, 4:15pm:_ ** _but seriously we ARE in black bear country_

**_Demanding Girlfriend, 4:15pm:_ ** _I SWEAR TO GOD BEN_

**_Ben, 4:16pm:_ ** _well tell me where you ARE, you fucking idiot_

****

 

Based on Rey’s description of her surroundings, Ben surmises that she’s found one of his old childhood haunts. He takes a few minutes to rinse off at the house, then moves off in the direction of the tree line, looking for the old trail he’d hacked out of the woods as a boy.

It’s strange, almost like an out-of-body experience, to walk this old path again. Sprinkled around him is the detritus of his childhood; the tree house he’d patched together out of pallets, the old fort inside a hollowed-out willow, the tools and toys he’d snuck out of the house laying on the ground as if he’d left them there only days before. He’d wandered these woods for years, alone. Always alone.

In the distance, Ben hears the rush of the creek he’d played in well into his teens, building bridges and dams and canals for hours at a time. He’d missed the creek, to be honest. Looking back, he realizes it had been a form of meditation—pulling away the sticks and leaves, moving the stones out of the way so the water could rush through, clear and cold and cleansing.

Ben finds Rey sprawled on her stomach on a granite boulder in the center of the stream, the early evening sunlight falling in golden curtains around her. She’s letting her fingers trail lightly over the surface of the water. She doesn’t seem to notice that her hair has fallen into the water, too.

It doesn’t surprise him that she found her way to this particular spot. It’s peaceful here, with tall hemlocks that murmur in the wind and a small waterfall whispering a gentle rush, casting a spell over the smooth gray sheets of stone that rest at its feet.

“ _There_ you are,” Rey says, turning her head to beam at him. “I’ve found a crawfish. I’ve named him Theodore.”

“Careful,” Ben smiles as he toes off his shoes and tugs off his socks, “Crawfish weren’t made for monogamy. Theodore will break your heart. Right after he pinches the fuck out of your finger.” He rolls his jeans up to the knee and steps out into the creek, the icy water refreshing and cleansing on his dirty, overheated skin.

“Oh, and I suppose you won’t?” Rey scoffs. Her face is calm and relaxed, her body lazily soaking up the heat from the sun-warmed stone. Her hair is loose and trailing off the back of the boulder, the very tips dipping into the rippling surface of the water. Her eyes are sparkling hazel-green in the tree-filtered sun. Ben thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Never,” he replies, and leans over to plant a kiss on her temple.

“Is that a promise?” Rey grins languidly.

“You bet it is,” Ben murmurs into her skin. He plants a few light kisses across the teasing curves of her collarbone.

Rey sighs and loops her arms comfortably around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair and scratching mindlessly at his neck. It makes him shiver. “Out of curiosity…”

Ben hums curiously into the hollow of her throat.

“…Would you say that I ‘lured’ you here?”

Ben tips his head up with a quizzical look, resting his chin on her breastbone. “…Sure? Though I think it would be more accurate to say that I saved you from bears…” he trails off, thinking. “Are you fishing for compliments? If so, I would agree that you are quite al _luring_.”

“Oh stop,” she rolls her eyes. Then she glances down at him expectantly. “But go on, just in case I didn’t hear you correctly.”

His grin is boyish and crooked. “If we were crayfish, I wouldn’t _dream_ of cheating on you.”

“Oh _gosh_. You flatter me, sir.”

“Come on,” Ben laughs, tugging her up by the wrists. “We’ve got a few minutes. Let’s skip some stones.”

“But I was hoping we could _bone_ ,” Rey whines as she slides off the rock into the water. His hands wrap around her hips, steadying her as she finds her footing on the slippery stones.

“What, _here?_ ” Ben squints, looking around. “Do you have any idea what might be in this water?” He looks down at their wet feet in horror.

She looks at him flatly. “Really. _Really_ , Ben. What’s wrong with here?” She runs her fingers over his shoulders and chest, cocking a brow and looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

“We are not going to—to—”

“To what?”

“To—to—"

“Knock boots? Bump uglies? Uhhh…” Rey squints, wracking her brain for another idiom. “Uh, lay some pipe?”

“’Lay some pipe’?” Ben asks dryly. “Have I told you how much I love your romantic streak?”

“You know what else you’re gonna love about me?” Rey flutters her eyelashes. “The fact that I am _totally cool_ with having passionate sex in the great outdoors.”

“Uh huh,” Ben nods. Her arms are up around his shoulders, now, and with his hands on her hips, it’s easy to sway together a bit. She rocks side to side, gazing up at him playfully, enjoying their little dance.

“You realize animals piss in this water, don’t you?” He inquires, the corners of his mouth curling up a bit.

Her face sours only slightly. “I’m sure it’s quite diluted,” she sniffs in response.

“Mm-hmm. You realize fish die in this water? Fairly often? And sometimes they’ll get caught at the bottom of a pool, and just sit there, slowly decomposing—”

“I don’t see any dead fish around here, do you?” Rey glances around, a little anxious.

“I don’t, but they can be very hard to see.” She edges a little closer to his chest. “But do you have any idea how many parasites and diseases are carried by river water?”

Rey scowls up at him. Ben continues, unaffected.

“…Do you really want deer piss and giardia all up in your lady-bits, Rey? ‘Cause I certainly don’t want them all over my dick.”

“Way to kill the romance, Ben,” Rey scowls up at him. Ben smiles placatingly and trails his fingertips up her ribs lazily, making her shiver, then stoops to press a firm kiss into the crook of her neck. She sighs, mollified, and squeezes her arms around his shoulders.

“It’s a very nice spot,” Ben admits into her skin. “But I have a plan, and this isn’t it.”

“A _plan_ , you say?” Rey pulls away, narrowing her eyes. “What _kind_ of a plan?”

“Just…you know. Plans.” He shrugs and looks away over-casually.

“You want to screw in your childhood bedroom, don’t you,” Rey nods to herself. “Well, that’ll be fun, too, I guess.”

“What?” Ben blinks. “No way. That would be even grosser than the river.”

Rey squints and wrinkles her nose. “Why? What were you _doing_ in there that it could— _ohhhhh_.”

“Yeah. Jizz stains. _Everywhere_.”

“ _Everywhere?_ ”

“I was a very sexually frustrated teenager,” he explains drily.

Rey thinks about that for a second, then shrugs. “So what? We’ll add some more,” she says, and grins up at him wolfishly.

“You’re the worst.” A laugh is bubbling up from his belly irresistibly. “Though I’ll admit it’s a _little_ comforting to know that your standards are so appallingly low.”

“ _Hey—!_ ”

“…Like, I could write _‘DTF?’_ on the inside of a pizza box and you’d be like…”

“… _’Absolutely, but only if we can eat and fuck at the same time.’_ Okay, yeah, you might have a point.”

Suddenly, a dull, clanking sound reverberates in the distance.

“The fuck?” Rey asks ducking her head and swinging her head around in alarm. “Is that the _church_ bell? Are they calling us to repent?” She looks back to him, indignant. “But we haven’t _done_ anything, yet!”

“That’s the dinner bell, dummy,” Ben laughs, giving her hips a squeeze. “Come on, we have to hustle back before Mom martyrs herself.” Ben pats her butt cheeks to get her moving.

On their walk back through the woods to the house, Ben pauses along the way to point out landmarks and offer snippets of his time growing up. Rey is excited and curious and full of questions, exploring it all like a child. In talking with her, he feels something inside him release—an old wound finally healing, one that he hadn’t even known was there.

As they walk out of the trees hand-in-hand, they find the light on the back porch has been lit for them, and it shines out over the back yard like a lighthouse in the purple twilight falling over the rolling acres of the farm.

Rey pauses her steps to sigh deeply and breathe in the scents wafting from the kitchen window.

Ben takes a few appreciative sniffs. “Fried chicken and mashed potatoes,” he says, pleasantly surprised.

“Your favorite,” Rey points with a smile.

“How did you know?” He asks, puzzled.

“Your mom told me, obviously.” Rey explains. “She made it special, for _you_.” She tugs his hand and they start walking over the grass.

“Oh,” Ben says, still sounding confused. “But—why did she tell you that?”

“Because she was going to teach me how to make it for you.”

Ben blinks. That would be _great_ , honestly, but… “Why?”

Rey looks at him flatly. “Leia really, _really_ wants grandchildren.”

Ben tips his head back and laughs. “I already know how to make her recipe. _I_ make it better than _she_ does. Not that she would ever _admit_ that…”

“You know, she kept bringing up what a good cook you are. Gotta say I’m feeling kinda shafted, here, and not in a good way.”

Ben stops walking and tugs Rey back around into his arms, giving her a full-body squeeze. “As soon as we get home. I promise. I’ll cook you something.”

“What will you cook for me?” Rey mumbles into his chest, her mouth muffled by his shirt.

“Anything you want.” He rocks her side to side a little.

“Ramen?” She asks, tipping her head back and looking at him hopefully. “Easy Mac? Frozen pizza?”

Ben frowns down at her. “Remember what I was saying before? About your low standards…?”

“In that case, I’ll take steak au poivre with a side of shiitake risotto.”

“That’s my girl,” Ben says with satisfaction. “Alright. Let’s get in the house before Mom has a stroke.”


End file.
